FJLr.Piper 


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LIGHTS   OF  HOME 


POEMS  OF 


NATURE,   SENTIMENT  AND 
RELIGIOUS   HOPE 


BY 

FRED   LEROY    PIPER 


SECOND  EDITION 


THE  WARREN  PRESS 

160  WARREN  STREET,  BOSTON 
1912 


DEDICATED 

TO 


f* 


WHOSE  COMBINED  MINISTRY  OF  GUARDIANSHIP,  INSPIRATION 

AND  BLESSING  HAVE  EVER  BEEN  TO  ME  THE  BRIGHTEST 

AND  TENDEREST  OF  EARTHLY  EXPERIENCES 


FOREWORD 


This  volume  is  not  put  out  to  meet  any  "  long  felt 
want,"  for  the  author  is  not  aware  of  any  marked  de 
mand  for  poems  of  any  grade.  It  is,  however,  issued 
in  response  to  the  suggestions  of  numerous  friends. 
This  call,  together  with  the  larger  testimony  of  appre 
ciation  received  from  many  scattered  readers,  has  led 
to  the  collection  of  the  poems  from  papers  and  vari 
ous  sources,  and  their  issue  in  permanent  form.  The 
author's  only  hope  is,  that  the  lines  which  have 
proved  inspirational  and  helpful  to  some  known  read 
ers,  shall  carry  a  like  ministry  to  a  wider  circle. 

F.  L.  P. 
Boston,  November  /,  797.2. 


CONTENTS 


The  Lights  of  Home 7 

Give  Me  My  Flowers  Here 9 

Birth  of  the  Mountains 10 

The  Old  Pasture 11 

Mother  and  Sleeping  Child  on  the  Street        ...  12 

Holiday  Memories 14 

From  Shore  to  Shore 16 

The  Restless  Ocean         17 

The  First  Lord's  Day 18 

The  Woodland  Path 19 

Eastertide 20 

The  Whitened  Fields 21 

From  Dark  to  Easter  Dawn 22 

The  Shadow 22 

Your  Birthday 24 

Ossipee  Mountain 25 

In  Him  We  Live 26 

Sunset  on  Mt.  Shasta 27 

An  Evening  Wish 28 

Death  of  E.  A.  Stockman 29 

Good-Night 30 

Dawn  of  the  Gray           31 

The  Mountain  Brook .32 

Between  Ports 33 

The  Merrimac 35 

Farewell  to  the  Old         36 

God  in  Nature     .  37 


CONTENTS 


Rest  and  Rising 38 

Auditorium,  Alton  Bay        39 

The  Twilight  Hour    .      .  40 

The  Fading  Year 41 

Morning  by  the  Sea 42 

The  Songster's  Death  43 

The  Groaning  Creation         44 

Finds  at  Last  His  Throne 46 

Twilight  on  Winnipesaukee 47 

Thanksgiving        ....  48 

Autumn  Splendors  49 

The  Prodigal's  Plaint     .      .  .      .  50 

Friend  to  Friend 
The  Eternal  Calendar 

Church  Consecration       ...  53 

Where  the  Curtain  is  Lifted       .  ....  54 

Mt.  Washington  in  Mist 55 

Unbar  Thy  Door 56 

Twilight  in  the  Catskills  .....  58 

The  Sunset  Hour       .  59 

What  to  Do  With  It 60 

Star  of  the  Night  .      .  61 

The  Night  at  Bethlehem  .      .  62 

Easter  Sunrise  at  Sea 64 

Old  Age  Comes  Not  There  .  65 

Night  on  the  Deep    ...  65 

It  is  No  Time  for  Idling 66 

Alone  With  God         67 

The  Hills  of  Home  68 

From  the  Hilltop  by  Night 69 

Glen  Haven 70 

On  the  Train         .      . 

Beyond  the  Hills 73 

The  Sunset  Shore       .  74 

My  Mother's  Arms 75 


CONTENTS 


Dreams 77 

At  the  Grave  of  Annie  Kempton           78 

O  Throne  of  Love            79 

Stronger  than  Sword  or  Pen 80 

An  Evening  Reverie 82 

The  Dream  of  School  Days       .......  83 

Winnipesaukee 84 

Chambers  of  the  King 85 

Calvary 86 

The  World's  New  Hope 87 

Come  Back  Again 88 

The  Church  in  Revival         89 

Shasta  Ferns  and  Mosses 90 

Lone  Grave  in  the  Palms 91 

Evening  at  Avalon    ...            97 

When  Mother  Tucked  Me  In    ....  .98 

A  Grandfather's  Confession       ...  .99 

The  Bridegroom's  at  the  Gate         ...  .101 

Burdens 102 

Lake  Marion        105' 

Give  Us  Great  Thoughts 106 

Limits  of  Time  and  Vision                  107 


The  Lights  of  Home. 

«  THOUSAND  lights  flash  on  the  evening  air, 

From  street  and  hall,  from  lordly  towering  dome  ; 
They  shine  to  close  the  day  of  anxious  care ; 
But  fairest  lights  of  all  that  glimmer  there, 
Shine  out  the  lights  of  home. 

They  gleam  from  homes  where  hearth  fires  gaily  burn, 
O'er  teeming  boards  that  'neath  their  viands  groan ; 

They  shine  to  greet  the  toilers'  glad  return, 

Who  all  the  gayer  city  pleasures  spurn 
For  lights,  the  lights  of  home. 

A  thousand  prows  now  part  the  distant  main  ; 

Ten  thousand  lads  have  battled  wave  and  foam  ; 
They  joy  to  face  the  home  port  once  again, 
Forget  on  distant  seas  the  toil  and  pain, 

And  watch  for  lights  of  home. 

In  desert  wastes,  in  jungles  dim  by  day, 

Where  wayworn  travellers  haste,  in  fear  to  roam  — 
Their  hope  through  all  the  pilgrim,  weary  way, 
By  winter's  snows  or  through  the  flowers  of  May, 
To  see  the  lights  of  home. 


Lights   of   Home 

By  hearths  where  want  and  sorrow  ever  reign, 

Where  plenty's  horn  and  fullness  never  come, 
Where  as  a  frequent  guest  sits  racking  Pain, 
Who  comes  and  goes,  and  comes  again, 
They  watch  the  lights  of  home. 

In  shadowed  hall  where  ebbs  the  living  tide, 

Where  mocking,  bony  fingers  point  the  tomb, 
Sad  anxious  mourners  watch  their  loved  beside  — 
They  nurse  the  grief  they  cannot  cure  or  hide, 
And  hope  for  lights  of  home. 

Across  the  wide  and  swiftly  rolling  years, 

Under  the  stars  which  spangle  heaven's  dome, 
We  fondly  gaze,  and  faith  dispels  our  fears, 
We  speed  a  swifter  race  and  dry  our  tears, 
And  wait  the  lights  of  home. 

Giver  of  all  we  are,  or  hope  to  be, 

However  far  away  we  chance  to  roam, 
With  all  of  Thine,  grant  this  at  last  that  we, 
The  voyage  and  toilsome  journey  done,  may  see 
Those  lights — the  lights  of  home. 

Boston,  1903. 


Give  Me  My  Flowers  Here. 


•IMOT  banks  of  pink  or  rose  I  ask, 

When  comes  my  pall  and  bier ; 
Nor  floral  harps  and  "  gates  ajar  " — 
Give  me  my  flowers  here. 

Not  all  at  once,  but  now  and  then 

Grant  me  a  rose  or  tear ; 
Delay  not  all  till  I  am  gone, 

Give  me  my  flowers  here. 

And  if  my  heart  shall  kindness  win, 
And  comfort  soothe  my  fear, 

Bring  out  the  oil  of  gladness  now  — 
Give  me  my  flowers  here. 

If  kind  words  shall  at  last  be  said, 
And  friends  estranged  draw  near, 

Grant  now  a  foretaste  of  these  joys  — 
Give  me  my  flowers  here. 

These  granted  —  kindness,  patient  love, 

Hand  grasp,  or  silent  tear, 
I  then  can  say  in  life  or  death, 

Give  me  my  flowers  here. 


Birth  of  the  Mountains. 

"  Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or  ever  thou  hadst  formed 
the  earth  and  the  world,  even  from  everlasting  to  everlasting,  thou  art 
God." — PSA.  90 :  2. 

HAT  vast  and  dire  convulsions  gave  thee  birth, 

In  that  far  twilight  of  the  dim  unknown  ! 
What  giant  heavings  of  the  forming  earth 

That  reared  thy  bulk,  thy  towering  granite  cone  ! 

A  thousand  avalanches  welled  on  high 

From  out  the  dark  and  molten  depths  below, 

And  poured  their  grinding  masses  toward  the  sky, 
In  birth  pangs  of  the  forming  mountain's  woe. 

Earth  reeled  and  shuddered  at  the  deafening  shock, 
And  chaos  fought  with  ever  growing  light ; 

Convulsion  laid  thy  deep  foundation  rock, 
And  closed  on  it  the  gates  of  endless  night. 

But  on  thy  crest  the  wildwood  verdure  springs, 
And  graceful  spruces  pierce  the  mountain  air  ; 

The  highland  bird  in  merry  warble  sings, 
Above  the  world,  far  from  its  want  and  care. 

And  He  who  far  below  thy  bases  laid, 

And  framed  with  rock  thy  walls  and  towering  cone, 
Hath  all  the  wandering  orbs  of  heaven  made, 

Which  circle  round  His  far-off  dazzling  throne. 

Sure  He  who  guides  them  in  the  trackless  space, 

And  holds  thee  firm  in  His  all-wise  decree  — 
Who  gave  His  power  as  now  He  gives  His  grace, 

And  upholds  all  —  shall  also  care  for  me. 
Ossipee  Mountain,  Melvin  Village,  N.  H.,  19x0. 

IO 


The  Old  Pasture. 


•fl'VE  been  dreaming,  dear,  of  childhood,  and  the  early 

bygone  days, 

I've  been  back  among  the  early  scenes  I  knew ; 
I  have  trod  the  fields  and  woodlands  and  the  half-forgotten 

ways, 
Through  the  pasture  where  the  pennyroyal  grew. 

The  pines  are  on  the  hillside  where  the  cattle  used  to  feed, 
The  orchard  trees  have  shrunk  to  one  or  two ; 

The  old  cellar  now  is  darkened  with   tree  and  vine  and 

weed, 
In  the  pasture  where  the  pennyroyal  grew. 

I  have  heard  again  the  tinkling  of  the  bell  upon  the  cow, 
As  I  urged  her  lazy  footsteps  through  the  dew, 

With  a  tender  hand  upon  her  —  I  can  feel  her  motion  now  — 
Toward  the  pasture  where  the  pennyroyal  grew. 

Where  I  called  her  through  the  bushes  now  is  forest  dense 

and  high, 

Where  the  sunlight  glints  below  the  whole  day  through ; 
And  the  trout  brook  still  is  singing  through  the  valley  near 

by, 

In  the  pasture  where  the  pennyroyal  grew. 

We  are  older  grown,  my  darling,  since  those  pleasant  by 
gone  days, 

And  the  early  friends  now  left  us  are  but  few ; 
But  I'm  younger  to  have  traced  again  the  half  forgotten 

ways, 
Through  the  pasture  where  the  pennyroyal  grew. 

Melvin  Village,  N.  H.,  1907. 

II 


Mother  and  Sleeping  Child  on  the  Street. 


TITTI  HAT  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

^^     In  the  city's  din 

Where  the  street  tides  whirl  like  maddened  sin, 
Where  the  roar  of  wheels  and  clang  of  bell, 
In  ebb   and  flow  of  commerce  tell 
The  daily  tale  of  a  city's  hell  — 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 
'Tis  a  baby's  way, 

No  sounds  molest  where  the  sleeper  lay ; 
Safe  locked  in  a  babe's  unconscious  rest, 
A  refuge  safe,  it  has  gained  the  best  — 
A  mother's  arms  and  a  mother's  breast  — 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

What  a  pkce  to  sleep  ! 
But  a  thousand  hands, 

If  need,  would  guard  where  the  mother  stands, 
Would  turn  the  tide  of  the  roaring  mart, 
Would  peril  life  for  the  sleeper's  part, 
For  a  babe  belongs  to  the  world's  great  heart 
What  a  pkce  to  sleep  ! 


12 


Ligtits  of   Home 


What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 
'Neath  the  Alpine  snows, 
In  depths  where  the  sunlight  never  goes ; 
Down  the  crevasse  to  glacier's  bed, 
Fount  where  the  mountain  streams  are  fed, 
Fear  of  the  living,  house  of  the  dead  — 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 
'Neath  the  verdure  green, 
Which  cloths  in  beauty  the  tropic  scene ; 
In  a  dell  of  the  towering  mountain's  height, 
Under  the  stars  of  a  tropic  night, 
Awaiting  the  resurrection  light  — 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 
In  depths  of  the  sea, 
Clothed  in  its  unsolved  mystery ; 
Funeral  knell  by  the  ocean  wave, 
Ocean  bed  for  the  sleeper's  grave, 
Unfathomed  depths,  oh,  who  cah  save  1 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 
But  God  yet  reigns, 

And  under  the  mountains  and  under  the  plains, 
Holding  the  sea,  and  holding  the  land, 
As  drops  of  the  dew  and  as  dust  in  His  hand, 
They  all  shall  awake  at  His  command  — 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 


of    Home 


What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 
No  depths  can  hide 
The  friends  who  in  His  love  abide. 

Though  far  we  drift  from  former  calms, 
And  storm  and  night  bring  dread  alarms, 
We  still  are  safe  within  His  arms  — 
What  a  place  to  sleep  ! 

On  the  street,  Boston,  1904. 


holiday  Memories. 


T  of  the  misty,  fast-receding  years, 
Winged  as  an  arrow  in  its  rapid  flight, 
Come  through  the  rainbow  of  our  smiles  and  tears, 
Fond  memories  of  the  past,  this  Christmas  night. 

Again  for  us  the  cheerful  hearth  fire  glows, 
Framing  its  phantom  pictures  on  the  wall ; 

Without  lie  wide  and  white  the  mantling  snows, 
Again  I  hear  the  romping  children's  call. 

Faces  that  glow,  lit  by  the  dancing  flames, 
Come  back  and  fill  again  their  wonted  place; 

I  hear  in  cadence  of  the  past  their  names, 
And  feel  again,  as  then,  their  tender  grace. 


Lighits   of    Home 


How  sweet  to  watch  the  firelight's  fitful  glow  ! 

More  sweet  the  fellowship  that  gave  it  zest ; 
Without,  the  pleasures  of  the  ice  and  snow, 

Made  winter  joys  and  winter  days  seem  best. 

But  on  the  hearth  the  fires  died  long  ago, 

And  sundered  wide  the  friends  who  gathered  there  ; 

Passed  the  large  fellowship  we  there  loved  so, 
Silent  for  aye  the  hearthside  evening  prayer. 

But  some  are  left,  and  other  friends  are  here, 
And  Christmas  days  repeat  their  glad  good-will; 

Hearts  still  are  linked  with  other  hearts  as  dear, 
And  in  the  new-born  years  find  gladness  still. 

And  if  our  hopes  and  Christmas  joys  returned, 
Repair  the  waste  and  loss  of  fleeting  years, 

If  hopes  rise  higher  with  a  faith  affirmed, 

And  faith  wax  stronger  through  our  doubts  and  fears, 

If  heaven  be  heaven,  and  God  above  be  King, 
Then  coming  years  from  out  the  saddened  past, 

The  old  fond  dreams  and  fonder  friends  shall  bring, 
And  dreams  come  true,  and  friends  shall  ever  last. 

December  25,  1911. 


From  Shore  to  Shore. 


'7THE  days  !     The  years  !     They  pass  but  come  no  more  — 

Like  clouds  that  sweep  the  wintry  sky ; 
But  my  frail  bark  drifts  further  from  the  shore  — 

The  childhood  shore,  where  turns  the  longing  eye. 

Fair  faces  fade  from  out  the  lapse  of  years, 

Time's  current  bears  its  living  freight  away  ; 

Some  straining  glimpse  we  get  through  mist  and  tears 
Of  that  enchanting  time  —  life's  early  day. 

But  now  the  sun  recedes  from  off  the  hills 

Where  morning  came,  and  then  the  noontide  hour ; 

And  lower  sinks  the  song  of  wayside  rills, 

While  fainter  is  the  tint  of  field  and  flower. 

What  though  the  years  shall  lead  me  there  no  more  ? 

They  do  not  bear  me  to  a  shoreless  sea ; 
Their  currents  set  toward  the  sunrise  shore  ; 

They  prophesy  e'en  better  things  for  me. 

Bright  hills  and  stately  domes  —  the  mansions  fair  — 

Break  through  the  dawn  that  knows  no  darkening  night ; 

Hearts  lighter  grow  without  their  pain  and  care  — 
Across  my  bow  it  looms,  a  world  of  light. 

O  years  !     You  are  not  cruel,  though  you  seem 

To  take  me  far  from  home  and  friends  and  rest ; 

You  bear  me  on  to  these,  and  life's  fond  dream  — 
To  God,  my  home,  the  friends,  and  all  that's  best. 

Boston,  Dec.,  1909. 

16 


The  Restless  Ocean. 


IN  wave  on  wave  the  ever-restless  sea, 
Beats  its  hoarse  rhythm  on  a  thousand  shores ; 
It  pours  its  flood  on  cliff  and  reedy  lea, 
From  out  the  ocean's  everlasting  doors. 

Wild  are  the  storms  that  heave  thy  troubled  breast ; 

High  are  the  cliffs  that  surely  bar  thy  way  ; 
Deep  are  the  throes  that  leave  thee  naught  of  rest, 

Through  all  the  darkened  night,  through  all  the  day. 

Bright  are  thy  paths  that  shimmer  'neath  the  skies, 
Where  moves  a  nation's  commerce  o'er  thy  flood ; 

Or  where  the  white-winged  herald  of  the  Master  flies 
To  give  its  message  of  a  loving  God. 

Strong  are  thy  ties  that  bind  the  lands  in  one ; 

That  weave  the  isles  a  garland  for  thy  brow ; 
Broard  is  thy  fellowship  from  sun  to  sun, 

Thy  breadth,  thy  best  are  for  the  humblest  prow. 

Beneath  thy  storm,  thy  calm,  thy  unknown  bed, 
Is  far  outstretched  my  Father's  tender  hand ; 

Who  knows  thy  secrets  and  who  holds  thy  dead, 
As  safe  as  they  who  pillow  all  the  land. 

Type  of  all  breadth,  and  depths  that  are  unknown, 
Thy  surge  and  roar  shall  speak  thy  Maker's  praise  ; 

Thy  swinging  tides  are  timed  by  His  high  throne, 
Who  set  thy  bounds  and  measures  out  thy  days. 

Santa  Cruz,  Cal.,  1911. 

17 


The  First  Lord's  Day. 


UT  o'er  its  gilded,  far-flung,  burnished  path, 

Full  swung  the  sun  upon  its  conquering  way, 
Dispelling  night  and  Calvary's  hour  of  wrath, 
Bringing  the  world  its  first  glad  Easter  Day. 

The  mist  and  chill  of  every  valley  deep, 

Mounted  on  wing  before  that  sheen  of  light ; 

As  shrinking  guards  forgot  their  ward  to  keep, 
The  earth  in  new-born  joy  forgot  its  night. 

The  new  Lord's  Day,  memorial  of  the  hour, 

Brings  with  its  dawn  the  God-man  from  His  bed  - 

Henceforth  the  symbol  of  His  rise  and  power, 
Day  of  the  Living,  who  Himself  was  dead. 

O  Death  !  thy  shattered  bars  the  story  tell 
Of  conflict  grim  in  that  hadean  night ; 

A  conquering  Hero  masters  death  and  hell, 
And  floods  the  world  with  Resurrection  light. 

His  shining  girdle  henceforth  holds  the  key 
To  every  charnel  where  a  saint  may  sleep, 

Though  sown  in  ashes  on  the  heaving  sea, 

Or  plunged  to  bleach  in  unknown  caverns  deep. 

O  day  of  joy  that  saw  Him  conquering  rise ; 

Sweet  days  of  rest,  memorials  through  the  years ; 
Prophetic  of  his  reign  'neath  fairer  skies, 

And  earth  shall  see  the  last  of  wars  and  tears. 

Boston,  1910. 

18 


The  Woodland  Path. 


CfctERE  withered  and  crumpled  beneath  my  feet, 

The  fallen  leaves  are  lying ; 
I  walk  the  autumn  woodland  maze, 
In  the  clear  and  cool  November  days, 
When  the  season  fast  is  dying. 

Over  my  head  the  branches  sere  and  bare, 
In  the  breeze  their  protests  murmur ; 
They  sigh  like  one  in  grief  bereft, 
Whose  babes  the  home  at  last  have  left  — 
Their  loss  the  joy  of  summer. 

What  change  !  from  green  and  happy,  smiling  June, 

To  sere  and  brown  November ; 
Those  days  of  leaf  and  vine  and  bower, 
Of  swelling  bud  and  fragrant  flower, 

How  all,  their  joys  remember. 

And  thus  I  tread  life's  changing  autumn  paths, 

Where  friendship's  leaves  are  falling ; 
There's  many  a  branch  already  bare, 
And  more  their  grief  and  loss  shall  share, 
For  the  autumn  frosts  are  calling. 

Ah  !  this  is  the  land  of  the  falling  leaf ; 

The  path  which  a  shadow  crosses  ; 
Here  friends  and  friendships  pass  away, 
And  winter  follows  a  summer's  day, 

And  life  is  filled  with  losses. 


Lights   of    Home 

But  in  that  brighter,  changeless  home  to  come, 

Whose  portals  yet  shall  open, 
No  falling  leaf  nor  branch  left  sere  and  bare, 
Shall  tell  the  tale  of  winter's  coming  there  ; 
And  farewells  are  not  spoken. 

All  hail !  that  balmy  clime  of  endless  spring, 
Whose  freshness  and  whose  glory 

Fade  not  in  all  the  endless  years ; 

While  saints  redeemed  from  death  and  fears, 
Shall  chant  redemption's  story. 

Boston,  1904.  

Eastertide. 


E  morn  had  swung  her  gates  ajar, 
And  poured  o'er  Orient  lands  the  new-born  day, 
Swift  messengers  from  realms  afar, 

Smote  seal  and  guard,  and  rolled  the  stone  away. 

A  stir  within  —  'tis  victory's  hour  ; 

And  calmly  all  death's  emblems  are  laid  by, 
He  wrests  from  death  his  kingly  power ; 

He  lives  to  reign,  and  never  more  to  die. 

Breathe  then  in  bells,  in  flower,  in  song, 

With  joyous  strains  the  gladsome  Eastertide  ; 

Let  all  the  living  His  high  praise  prolong, 

Who  ever  lives,  who  once  for  sinners  died. 
Boston,  1898. 

20 


The  Whitened  fields. 


HERALD  of  the  living  Christ,  awake  ! 

Gird  on  thy  sandals  for  a  swifter  race ; 
The  full  equipment  of  thine  armor  take, 
The  crisis  of  the  age  comes  on  apace. 

The  whitened  fields  stretch  far  in  waving  grain  ; 

Put  in  thy  sickle,  for  the  harvest  hour  is  come  ; 
Full,  ripened  by  the  first  and  lattqr  rain, 

Sheaves  wait  the  reaper  and  the  garner  home. 

The  call  of  sorrow  and  of  want  is  heard, 

Of  untaught  children  needing  shepherd  care  ; 

And  darkened  homes  that  lack  the  living  Word 
Invite  thy  heart  and  hand  from  everywhere. 

Haste,  then,  the  toil ;  thy  coming  Lord  shall  bring 
Crowns  and  reward  for  reaping  and  thy  tears, 

And  He  who  blessed  thy  work  shall  be  thy  King, 
Through  all  the  coming,  joyous,  gladsome  years. 

Sower  and  reaper,  in  that  bright  realm  of  light, 
Forever  mingle  where  no  sorrow  mars  ; 

In  glory  far  exceeding  any  night, 

They  meet  and  shine  forever  as  the  stars. 


Prom  Dark  to  Easter  Dawn. 


MS    break   the   clouds,  storm-weighed    and   tempest- 
~*         driven, 

Which   nursed   the  blast,   that  shook   the    trembling 

land, 
And  gave  again  the  gladsome  orb  of  heaven  — 

Assurance  of  a  Father's  smile  and  guiding  hand ; 

So  o'er  Judean  hills,  storm-swept  with  Calvary  sorrow, 
And  pressed  with  deeper  woe  than  earth  had  known, 

There  breaks  beyond  death's  night  the  Easter  morrow, 
In  light  o'er  all — the  cottage  and  the  throne. 

Sun-lit  the  hills  where  pealed  the  angry  thunder ; 

Calmed  are  the  waves  where  tempests  strove  in  vain  ; 
Gathered  at  last,  safe  home  a  perfect  number, 

Passed  tomb  and  death,  where  comes  no  ill  or  pain. 

Boston,  1903. 


/\ 


The  Shadow. 


|3  SHADOW  lies  on  my  heart  to-day, 

For  the  years  have  been  coming  back, 
And  memory,  unbidden,  has  led  me  away 
O'er  the  scenes  of  the  backward  track. 


22 


Lights   of    Home 


The  world  is  aglow  with  joy  and  mirth, 

And  the  stars  are  bright  above ; 
The  heavens  smile  o'er  a  teeming  earth, 

And  tell  of  a  Father's  love. 

I  have  trusted  friends  —  dear  to  my  heart  — 

As  dear  as  the  old  I  knew, 
Who  bring  to  life  its  better  part ; 

But  the  shadow  remains  there  too. 

I  touch  the  keys  with  a  hymn  tonight, 

But  out  from  their  rambling  tone, 
Comes  trooping  back  on  my  dreamy  sight 

The  friends  I  have  long  since  known. 

In  well-known  form  and  fair  of  face, 

They  come  with  smiles  today, 
They  feign  would  every  ill  efface, 

But  the  shadow  goes  not  away. 

There  let  it  lie ;  my  heart  holds  more 
Than  the  shadow,  or  grief,  or  fears ; 

It  has  joys  that  spring  from  the  unseen  shore, 
And  its  memory  of  bygone  years. 

It  has  trusted  friends,  a  joy  to  last, 
And  hope  of  a  world  without  sorrow  ; 

Then  leave  me  the  shadow  to  link  the  sweet  past, 
With  the  present,  and  sweeter  tomorrow. 


Your  Birthday. 


little  girl  with  silken  hair, 
A  thousand  joys  be  yours ; 
Your  sunny  life  so  young  and  fair, 
Has  shed  its  joy  on  ours. 

The  days,  the  scenes  !  how  swift  they  whirl ! 

How  years  have  passed  away  ! 
A  babe,  a  child,  my  little  girl ! 

You're  ten  years  old  today. 

Ten  happy  years,  too  bright  to  stay ; 

Ten  seasons  filled  with  spring  ; 
May  summer  be  as  glad  a  day, 

And  fall  no  shadows  bring. 

And  when  shall  pass  the  hearts  and  home 
Which  guard  thy  youthful  years, 

And  when  that  brighter  home  shall  come, 
Beyond  our  care  and  fears, 

Ours  be  the  joy  to  meet  thee  there, 
Where  numbering  years  are  o'er, 

Thyself  the  same,  but  "grown  more  fair," 
Thy  home  the  changeless  shore. 


Maiden,  Mass.,  1902. 


I.ATKK    AS    A    HlCll    S(  I1OOI.    (HR[, 


Ossipee  Mountain. 


/TROWN  of  the  Ossipees  !     Thou  mount  of  God  ! 

Like  Pisgah  for  thy  widely-sweeping  view  ; 
So  near  the  clouds  which  weave  thy  misty  wreath  — 
A  changeful  crown,  old,  yet  ever  new. 

Perfume  of  mountain  spruce,  and  brake,  and  pine, 
Make  sweet  the  air  which  bathes  thy  lofty  crest ; 

And  circling  eagles  far  above  the  haunts  of  men, 
Find  shelter  on  thy  cliffs,  and  home  and  rest. 

A  thousand  storms  have  swept  thy  beetling  crags, 
Thou  silent  monarch  of  the  range  and  lake ; 

Ten  thousand  morning  suns  have  kissed  thy  brow, 
Whence  these  enchanting  views  I  take. 

How  long  has  been  thy  patient,  guardian  ward, 
O'er  lake  and  stream  and  widely  rolling  plain? 

What  generations  past  invoked  thy  shrine, 

And  called  in  prayer  thy  mystic  mountain  name? 

These  passed,  and  passing  like  the  fading  dew, 
Declare  thy  constant  and  unchanging  sway ; 

And  thy  remote  tomorrow  still  shall  be 
As  now  I  find  thee  on  this  gladsome  day ; 

Till  that  dread  day  when  last  convulsions  shake 
Thy  pillar (d  sides  and  move  the  solid  earth  ; 

When  seas  and  mountains  shall  their  places  leave, 
As  nature  struggles  to  her  second  birth. 


Lights   of   Home 


Beyond  those  throes  shall  fairer  scenes  arise 

Than  these  which  thou  dost  give  my  eyes  today  ; 

And  I,  so  frail,  shall  then  survive  thy  shock  ; 
Shall  view  thy  passing,  but  ne'er  pass  away. 

Black  Mountain,  Melvin,  1904. 


In  Him  We  Live. 


'7THOU  Holy  One,  to  eye  unseen, 

Yet  ever  near  in  power, 

Whose  glory  gilds  an  evening  sky, 

Or  tints  the  morning  flower  : 

Thy  voice  in  accents  clear  and  loud, 
By  sky  and  earth  is  heard, 

In  pealing  thunder,  cloud  to  cloud, 
Or  song  of  bird  to  bird. 

Yet  now  the  humblest  may  draw  near, 
Rejoiced  to  own  Thy  sway ; 

They  find  in  Thee  a  Presence  near, 
And  hope  of  endless  day. 

Come  in  Thou  all-pervading  One, 
My  heart  Thy  throne  shall  be  ; 

Reign  there  till  all  Thy  will  is  done  — 
In  heaven  —  so  in  me. 


26 


Sunset  on  Mt.  Shasta. 


"7THE  shades  are  on  the  valley,  dear,  far  by  the  moun- 
^*          tains  thrown, 

But  still  the  sun  is  lingering  on  the  height ; 
The  silver  of  the  river  into  somber  hue  has  grown, 
The  deeper  shades  proclaim  the  coming  night. 

The  snow  upon  the   summit's  brow  reflects  the    sunset 
gold, 

The  amber  of  the  evening  fills  the  west ; 
The  round  of  toil  and  pleasure  for  another  day  is  told, 

The  stillness  of  the  valley  tells  of  rest. 

The  vales  are  for  the  shadows,  dear,  the  sun  is  for  the 

crest, 

Where  monarchs  of  the  mountains  kiss  the  sky ; 
The  clouds  that  have  the  silver  for  their  lining  in  the 

west, 
Presage  for  us  a  day  that  ne'er  may  die. 

If  the  valley  fills  with  shadows,  dear,  and  deepens  into 

gloom, 

There's  a  river  in  its  depth  that  ever  sings ; 
And  cheerful  lights  of  evening  to  the  valley  homes  shall 

come, 
Where  honest  toil  its  meed  of  gladness  brings. 


Lights  of   Home 


What  though  in  vales  or  on  the  heights  the  earthly  lot 

be  cast, 

The  vale  will  have  its  stream  still  singing  there ; 
Some  evening  lights  shall  shine  to  bless  the  far  receding 

past, 
And  heaven  shall  bend  to  hear  the  sunset  prayer. 

But  if  on  heights  above  the  vale  the  sun  may  find  us 

then, 

When  swift  he  goes  toward  the  day's  decline ; 
Our  hearts  shall  miss  the  shadows  of  the  deeper  moun 
tain  glen, 
And  catch  the  glow  where  latest  twilights  shine. 

Shasta  Springs,  Cal.,  1911. 


An  Evening  Wish. 


•fCLESSINGS  on  thee,  child,  tonight, 

God's  bright  stars  above  thee  ; 
Sweet  thy  sleep  till  morning  light  — 
Wish  of  those  who  love  thee. 

May  the  morning  bring  thee  joy, 

Coming  days  no  sorrow ; 
Each  bring  peace  without  alloy, 

Each  a  brighter  morrow. 


28 


Death  of  E.  A.  Stockman. 


7THEY  fall !  They  fall !  Comrade  and  friend  ; 

Our  thinning  ranks,  wavering,  bend 
Before  the  monster's  onward  tread  — 
And  closing  ranks,  we  count  our  dead, 

And  wait  the  next  to  fall. 

And  like  the  noble  Scottish  clan, 
Who,  heart  to  heart,  and  man  to  man  — 
Breasted  the  foe  with  spear  and  dart, 
Until  their  chieftain,  pierced  at  heart, 
Fell,  to  their  sore  dismay ; 

Thus  we  in  strife  for  truth  and  right, 
Beset  by  sin  and  error's  might, 
Share  deeper  grief  than  tribe  or  clan, 
We  mourn  a  saint,  a  friend,  a  man  — 
A  fallen  chieftain,  ours. 

Foe  of  the  wrong,  friend  of  the  good, 
His  choice  to  stand  where  martyrs  stood  ; 
Travel-worn  saint,  in  need  of  rest, 
We  loved  thee  much,  God  loved  thee  best, 
Farewell,  'til  morning  breaks. 


Boston,  Feb.  i,   1901. 


Good-Night. 

OOD-NIGHT,"  we  breathe  o'er  the  sleeping  babe, 

With  the  evening  curtains  drawn, 
As  we  leave  him  safe  with  the  slumber  nurse, 
To  sleep  'til  the  break  of  morn. 

14  Good-night,"  comes  down  from  the  hall  above, 

As  the  children  file  to  bed  ; 
And  we  pray  that  God  their  souls  may  keep, 
As  have  they  in  the  prayers  said. 

"  Good-night "  comes  oft  at  the  close  of  day, 

As  friend  with  friend  may  part ; 
"  Good-night,"  it  echoes  on  the  street, 

In  hall,  or  crowded  mart. 

"  Good-night,"  we  say  at  the  close  of  life, 

When  sleep  in  death  draws  near  ; 
"  Good-night,"  when  last  farewells  are  said, 

With  sigh  and  falling  tear. 

44  Good-night  "  in  life,  "  good-night  "  in  death. 

44  Good-night  "  till  the  dream  is  o'er  ; 
'Til  friends  shall  meet  again  in  life, 
And  say  4<  good -night  "  no  more. 

Boston,  1901. 


"  But  I've  noticed  that  by  some  mishap  or  other, 
There's  a  sprinkling  of  grey  threads  in  her  hair." 


Dawn  of  the  Gray. 


Y,  my  boy,  I've  been  looking  at  your  mother, 
The  one  you  know,  we've  always  thought  so  fair ; 
But  I've  noticed  that  by  some  mishap  or  other, 
There's  a  sprinkling  of  gray  threads  in  her  hair. 

I'm  sure  she's  not  grown  old,  for  her  face  and  heart  are 
young, 

And  her  laugh  and  voice  are  still  as  light  as  air, 
Her  song  is  even  sweeter  than  the  early  songs  she  sung, 
But  the  gray  is  surely  coming  in  her  hair. 

I  think,  my  boy,  we'll  lift  a  little  harder  on  the  load, 
And  we'll  lighten  up  that  mother's  round  of  care, 

We'll  send  her  tripping  lighter  on  the  balance  of  the  road, 
And  we'll  stay,  perchance,  the  gray  threads  in  her  hair. 

But  in  that  better  country  where  the  scattered    gather 

home, 

Which  the  Master  with  His  glory  shall  prepare, 
Eternal  youth  shall  tarry,  and   no   dread  of   age    shall 

come, 
And  the  gray  shall  never  mingle  in  the  hair. 


Boston,  1903. 

31 


The  Mountain  Brook. 


*ff  T  sings  a.  gladsome,  merry  song, 

This  mountain  brook. 

It  starts  where  storm-clouds  sweep  the  heights 
It  runs  through  days  and  runs  through  nights, 
By  many  a  bend  and  crook. 

Deep  in  its  early-shaded  glen 

It  glides  along; 

Shimmers  over  the  mossy  stones, 
Sings  and  babbles  and  gaily  drones 

Its  high-up  mountain  song. 

Little  of  sun  to  cheer  its  way, 

It  runs  in  shade ; 

The  graceful  ferns  its  ways  attend, 
They  cover  each  unsightly  bend, 

Each  pool  and  shallow  made. 

Above  its  downward  merry  course 

A  roof  is  spread  ; 

A  warp  of  tree,  of  branch  and  limb, 
A  woof  of  leaf,  and  climbing  vine  — 

Fit  shade  for  monarch's  bed. 

On  in  its  course  to  lake  and  -;ea  !  — 

This  mountain  brook ; 
Held  not  by  log  or  hindering  stone, 
It  ever  sings,  "  I  must  be  gone," 

And  runs  by  bend  and  crook. 


3  2 


Lights   of    Home 


And  "such  is  life,"  the  preacher  saith, 

Its  course  is  laid, 
More  often  in  the  shady  glen, 
With  more  of  shade  than  star  or  sun, 

Its  progress  often  stayed. 

But  like  the  river,  on  we  go 

To  lake  and  sea  ; 
Past  all  that  holds  or  helps  us  on, 
We  wave  and  sing,  "  I  must  be  gone," 

To  larger  destiny. 

Glen  in  the  Ossipees,  1904. 


Between  Ports. 


NSTEADY  of  step,  uncertain  of  sight, 
Trembling,  halting,  slow  ; 
Extended  hand  for  better  light  — 
A  twilight  darkening  into  night, 
Where  sunset  embers  glow. 

Fair  once,  in  face  and  heart  a  child, 

With  form  erect  and  strong ; 
No  anxious  care  her  hours  beguiled, 
Glad  youth  in  all  her  features  smiled  — 

Her  journey  bright,  though  long. 

33 


Lights   of    Home 


But  years  have  blanched  from  off  her  face 

The  rose  of  former  days, 
Nor  left  a  lingering,  tell-tale  trace 
Of  all  her  wealth  of  youthful  grace, 

Or  of  her  girlish  ways. 

But  deep  within  the  eyes  set  fast  — 

Which  oft  of  musings  tell  — 
One  reads  her  revels  in  the  past 
Of  days  and  scenes  too  bright  to  last, 
The  days  she  loved  so  well. 

Afar  upon  the  moving  tide 

Her  trembling  bark  has  come  ; 
Past  port  of  youth,  with  sunny  side, 
Where  all  may  touch  but  none  abide, 
Afar  from  childhood's  home. 

But  other  voices,  other  days, 

Attract  her  ever  on  ; 
The  tide  may  bear  her  devious  ways, 
Past  shoal  and  rock  and  land-locked  bays  - 

But  it  shall  bear  her  home. 

Home  where  the  care  lines  fade  away, 

Hearth  where  friends  shall  come ; 
Port  where  youth  finds  endless  day, 
Where  friend  to  friend  no  farewells  say  — 
The  soul's  eternal  home. 

Boston,  1904. 

34 


The  Merrimac. 


*|OIBBON  of  mist  and  shimmering  wave, 

Mirror  of  shore  and  sky ; 
lazily  flowing  thy  banks  between, 
Adding  thy  charm  to  the  landscape  scene  — 
Flowing  forever  by. 

Down  from  the  glades  of  the  Crystal  Range, 

Down  through  the  hills  to  me  ; 
On  and  ever  thy  course  is  laid, 
By  Him  who  shore  and  waters  made  — 
On  to  the  waiting  sea. 

Yet  back  again  to  mountain  haunts 

May  come  thy  waters  fair  — 
Lifted  on  high  from  tropic  seas, 
And  borne  aloft  by  storm  and  breeze, 
These  yet  may  bring  thee  there. 

Distilled  once  more  on  plain  and  mount, 

Thy  crystal  drops  may  be ; 
And  then  again  by  spring  and  glen, 
Thy  flow  shall  bless  the  homes  of  men, 

Back  to  the  waiting  sea. 


35 


Lighits   of    Home 

"  There  is  a  stream  whose  gentle  flow," 

In  sweeter  landscape  glides ; 
To  hearts  and  homes  its  blessings  borne, 
To  those  in  joy  and  those  who  mourn  — 
More  sweet  than  all  besides. 

Blest  stream  of  faith  and  love  and  hope, 

Rich  blessings  on  thee  ever  ; 
Bear  us  upon  thy  moving  tide, 
Thy  peace  within  our  hearts  abide, 
Thy  flow  be  ours  forever. 

Merrimac  Valley,  1904. 

Farewell  to  the  Old. 


|CAREWELL  to  the  year, 

*"      The  dying  year, 
Its  sins  be  all  forgiven. 

Pardoned  be  all  its  misspent  hours, 

Forgotten  its  sadly  wasted  flowers, 
Whose  fragrance  spoke  of  heaven. 

Farewell  to  the  year, 

The  finished  year ; 
Its  joys  shall  linger  long. 

We'll  turn  again  its  brighter  page, 

Its  good  shall  last  from  age  to  age, 
A  gladsome  summer  song. 

36 


God  in  Nature, 


/TXOD  of  the  mountain's  towering  height, 

Thy  sovereign  power  I  own  ; 
These  hoary  forms  proclaim  Thy  might  — 
Thy  sure  unchanging  throne. 

In  unknown  depths,  when  worlds  were  framed, 

Thou  laid'st  their  basal  tiers  ; 
Ere  man  their  wonders  sang  or  named, 

These  heights  were  gray  with  years. 

No  gladsome  voices  chimed  their  birth  ; 

Alone  Thou  reared  them  high, 
As  guardian  sentries  of  the  earth, 

As  pointers  to  the  sky. 

They  speak  Thy  voice,  Thou  God  of  all, 

In  tree,  in  leaf  and  flower  ; 
In  frowning  height,  in  waterfall, 

In  shade  of  evening  hour. 

Where  bluebells  bloom  in  sunny  glen, 

Where  avalanches  sweep, 
Here  be  Thy  throne,  Thou  King  of  men, 

As  in  the  azure  deep. 

A.  thousand  ages  in  Thy  sight 

Are  but  a  passing  day  ; 
Thy  throne,  in  everlasting  light, 

Shall  never  pass  away. 

37 


of   Home 


God  of  the  mount,  of  earth  and  heaven, 

Creator,  Sovereign,  King, 
I  bow  before  Thy  wonders  given, 

My  praise  and  worship  bring. 

Crawford  Notch,  1903. 


Rest  and  Rising. 


*|OEST,  dear  tired  child  ;   thy  romp  and  play 
Has  wearied  hands  and  feet  and  brain  ; 
Thy  laughter  and  thy  tears  made  bright  the  day 
Which  came,  but  ne'er  shall  come  to  thee  again. 

But  through  thy  chamber  window  on  the  morn, 
The  rising  sun  shall  bring  another  day ; 

Thy  feet  shall  enter  its  bright  joys  upon, 
Again  shall  fill  the  hours  with  happy  play. 

Dear  tired  saint,  thy  hands  are  thin  and  white  ; 

Thy  lids  are  wet  with  watching  and  with  tears  ; 
Thy  Father  sends  thee  rest,  death's  quiet  night  — 

Refreshing  for  the  coming  endless  years. 

That  morn  shall  break  above  thy  slumber  bed ; 

Its  Easter  rays  shall  lighten  up  the  tomb  ; 
Refreshed,  with  millions  rising  from  the  dead, 

Thy  risen  King  shall  bring  thee  safely  home. 

Boston,  1906. 

38 


Auditorium,  Alton  Bay. 


/flN  SACRED  spot !  'neath  shimmering  leaf  and  sky, 

With  sunlight  glinting  through  the  forest  trees  ; 
Where  oak  and  maple,  standing  proudly  by, 
Invite  and  woo  the  passing  summer  breeze. 

A  wall  of  cottage  homes  in  fair  array, 

A  seated  ground  where  glad  hearts  love  to  come ; 

A  place  of  blessing  through  campmeeting  day, 
A  foretaste  of  the  coming  heavenly  home. 

The  sound  of  prayer  and  praise  from  here  ascends, 
The  preached  Word  rings  through  the  temple  fair ; 

The  voice  of  nature  with  the  preacher's  blends, 
The  breath  of  worship  fills  the  summer  air. 

But  camp  shall  break,  and  these  shall  scatter  far ; 

The  leafy  roof  shall  fall  in  sad  decay ; 
These  lessons  rise  our  outer  joys  to  mar  — 

Reminders  fresh  that  all  must  pass  away. 

But  on  a  fairer  shore,  'neath  brighter  sky, 
Shall  meet  again  the  severed  and  the  blest ; 

Fair  groves  and  fairer  mansions  fill  the  eye, 
Where  worn  and  long-divided  saints  find  rest. 

Here  dies  the  song  that  soon  shall  waken  there  ; 

Now  waits  the  faith  that  endeth  soon  in  sight ; 
Here  fades  the  night,  and  ends  the  voice  of  prayer ; 

There  breaks  the  day  all  shadowless  and  bright. 

Alton  Bay,  1907. 

39 


The  Twilight  Hour. 


'7THE  twilight  splendor  fills  the  western  sky, 

The  day  departs  which  comes  to  us  no  more ; 
The  shades  of  evening  hover  closely  by, 
The  lights  gleam  on  the  shore. 

The  hush  of  nature  spreads  o'er  all  around 
A  calm,  as  sinks  a  tired  babe  in  sleep ; 

For  weary  lives  a  balm  of  rest  is  found, 
As  breathed  for  those  who  weep. 

We  grieve  not  for  the  swift,  departing  day, 
Its  meed  of  anxious,  wearing  toil  is  done  ; 

God  kindly  folds  our  busy  cares  away, 
And  curtains  in  the  sun. 

But  for  our  loss  he  gives  the  gorgeous  light 

Of  gilded  cloud,  and  crimson,  changing  bars  ; 

He  gives  for  toil  the  restfulness  of  night  — 
Unveils  his  heaven  of  stars. 

Blest  be  the  twilight  with  its  splendid  glow, 
The  rest  and  calm  to  weary  toilers  given  ; 

Blest  be  the  hand  which  furls  the  day  below, 
To  show  us  more  of  heaven. 


Boston,  1907. 


The  Fading  Year. 


7THY  mercy  on  our  failures,  Lord, 

In  this  swift  fading  year  ; 
Its  days  have  well-nigh  run  their  course, 
The  last  is  near. 

Like  sands  from  out  the  hour-glass, 
Its  golden  hours  have  sped  ; 

Friends  saw  its  dawn  to  see  its  close  — 
But  some  are  dead. 

For  all  its  precious  hours  misspent, 
We  grieve  with  vain  regret ; 

For  all  its  sins  of  deed  or  thought, 
O  spare  us  yet. 

Thou  Changeless,  thou  Eternal  One, 
Be  Thou  our  guide  and  stay, 

And  when  this  night  of  time  is  gone, 
Bring  us  to  day. 

A  .day  that  sees  no  setting  sun, 

A  year  that  knows  no  end, 
An  age  succeeding  age  on  age, 

Where  friend  meets  friend. 

Course  on  the  years,  nor  bring  regret. 

Fade  plans  or  time  away ; 
Beyond  them  all  my  soul  discerns 

An  endless  day. 


Morning  by  the  Sea. 


•IjfiARS  of  sunlight  on  the  sea, 

Shimmering  cloud  and  summer  haze 
Morning  sun  on  rock  and  tree  — 
Gladsome,  dreamy,  autumn  days. 

Hushed  in  calm,  O  mighty  deep  !  — 
Bathed  in  glory  from  on  high  — 

Deep  the  secrets  that  you  keep, 
Safe  from  ear  or  searching  eye. 

Stilled  the  storms  that  swept  thee  o'er ; 

Hushed  the  thunders  of  the  blast ; 
Only  wavelets  lave  the  shore, 

Where  thy  wrecks  of  years  were  cast. 

Blessed  morning,  peaceful  calm, 
Spreading  o'er  the  boundless  main, 

Like  a  soothing  morning  balm, 
Following  a  night  of  pain. 

Thus  may  peace,  some  gladsome  day, 
Calm  the  troubles  of  our  earth ; 

Still  the  tempests,  pave  the  way 
For  creation's  second  birth. 

Stilled  earth's  waves  of  war  and  strife  ; 

Holy  calm  forever  be ; 
Quiet  joy,  unending  life  — 

Morning  sunlight  on  the  sea. 

Boston,  1908. 

42 


The  Songster's  Death. 


•TTHE  cracker  is  uneaten  where  the  songster  had  his  throne, 

The  seed  is  undiminished  where  he  fed  ; 
The  home  cage  looks  deserted,  hanging  silent  and  alone  — 
Our  singer,  the  canary  bird,  is  dead. 

There's  no  early  morning  greeting  when  1  raise  the  window- 
shade, 

The  joy  and  animation  all  are  fled 
From  the  perches  and  the  swing-loft  where  such  melody 

was  made, 
Since  the  occupant  and  singer  now  is  dead. 

His  sweet  and  warbling  melody  once  rang  through  home 
and  heart, 

It  won  its  highest  tribute,  human  love  ; 
It  seemed  a  strain  left  over  of  an  Eden's  long-lost  art, 

A  suggestion  of  the  purer  songs  above. 

We  left  him  in  the  garden  —  where  they  placed  the  birds' 

best  Friend, 

Who  the  Father's  tender  watch-care  o'er  them  gave  — • 
And  there  the  birds  shall  sing  their  songs  until  the  sum 
mer's  end, 
O'er  the  singer  and  above  his  new-made  grave. 


Boston,  1909. 


43 


The  Groaning  Creation. 


of  thee  still,  the  "whole  creation  "  groans ; 
O  earth,  what  shocks  have  rent  thy  heaving  breast  ! 
Thine  are  the  deeper-growing  birth-pang  moans, 
For  thee  there's  no  relief,  no  present  rest. 

Thy  burning  mountains  shed  their  warning  glow 

Afar  o'er  faces  blanched  in  mortal  fear  ; 
From  out  thy  bowel  mines  the  sound  of  woe 

Falls  like  a  dirge  upon  the  listening  ear. 

Beneath  thy  groves,  thy  parks,  thy  fairest  flowers, 
Spreads  wide  and  deep  the  dark  hadean  shade, 

Where  slumbering  dwellers  pass  death's  somber  hours, 
Who  'neath  thy  springing  scd  their  graves  have  made. 

Ten  thousand  storms  have  swept  thy  heaving  main, 
And  reaped  their  harvest  toll  in  death  and  tears  ; 

The  winds  repeat  the  echo  of  thy  pain, 

And  chant  a  dirge  of  sorrow  through  the  years. 

The  tramp  of  men,  the  growing,  warring  hosts, 
Sounds  in  the  camps  where  hostile  nations  wait ; 

Their  frowning  fortresses  rise  on  the  coasts 

Where  war-enthralled  but  vanished  nations  sate. 


44 


JUights   of    Home 

Dread  ships  of  war  their  brazen  challenge  bring, 
To  awe  the  weak  —  perchance  to  check  the  wrong  ; 

The  nations  own  not  yet  their  rightful  King, 
While  evil  men  still  consort  with  the  strong. 

The  wail  of  suffering  childhood  rises  high, 

Where  ill-requited  toil  the  blood-mark  leaves  ; 

A  vaunting  charity  moves  slowly  by, 

While  righteousness  and  open  justice  grieves. 

O  earth  !  thy  darksome  winter  has  been  long, 
But  bright  shall  be  the  coming  of  thy  spring  ; 

Thy  dirge  and  sorrow  shall  be  changed  to  song, 
Thy  long  misrule  for  justice,  and  thy  King. 

Boston,  1910. 


45 


Finds  at  Last  His  Throne. 


TIYflHEN  clouds  have  hid  the  shining  of  His  face, 

And  'round  my  path  the  twilight  shadows  come  ; 
I  find  my  needed  succor  in  His  grace, 

As  I  journey  on  toward  my  rest  and  home. 

Beyond  the  clouds,  and  past  the  summits  high, 

Where  storms  and  sunshine  sweep  and  kiss  the  crest, 

In  mansions  which  shall  fill  the  earth  and  sky, 
To  overcomers  there  remains  a  rest. 

Fair  picture  of  a  world  surpassing  bright, 

Thy  glory  fills  my  vision  with  its  cheer ; 
Glad  day  of  days  which  ne'er  shall  end  in  night, 

Where  comes  no  gathering  cloud,  or  dread,  or  fear. 

A  world  where  death  shall  lose  its  power  and  sting ; 

Where  nations  shall  a  righteous  scepter  own ; 
Where  wandering  peoples  find  at  last  their  King ; 

Earth's  crownless  Ruler  finds  at  last  His  throne. 

Boston,  1905. 


Twilight  on  Winnipesaukee. 


RK  are  the  isles  where  sunset  shadows  lengthen ; 
Bright  gleams  the  star  which  evening  calls  her  own  ; 
Fond  are  the  ties  which  shoreward  fancies  strengthen, 
Dear  are  the  dreams  of  childhood  days  and  home. 

Following  astern,  the  ripples  widely  spreading, 
Weave  there  a  path  of  softly  glowing  light, 

Where  waning  day  the  sun's  last  glories  shedding, 
Proclaim  to  all,  the  swift  oncoming  night. 

Faint  friendly  lights  gleam  o'er  the  trembling  waters, 
From  homes  where  dwell  the  hardy  wards  of  toil ; 

Where  lusty  sons  and  joy  of  fairer  daughters, 
Relieve  and  glorify  the  round  of  daily  moil. 

The  shore  lines  cast,  proclaim  the  journey  ending ; 

The  lights  of  home  from  out  the  casements  shine ; 
The  glow  of  stars  with  gayer  home  lights  blending, 

Have  brought  me  back  again  to  home  and  mine. 

And  thus  shall  some  day  close  the  voyage  longer, 

When  twilight  shades  the  world's  wide  vault  o'er  spread ; 

But  love  of  home  shall  be  the  tie  yet  stronger, 
Which  binds  to  Him  the  living  and  the  dead. 


47 


Lights  of  Home 


The  Morning  Star  shall  lend  its  guiding  beacon, 
And  friendly  lights  shall  gleam  on  bay  and  shore ; 

The  voyage  past,  shore  lines  shall  be  the  token — 
Here  are  the  friends  and  home  forevermore. 

Melvin  Village,  1909. 


Thanksgiving. 


/H\Y  heart,  bring  thanks  for  blessing  given, 

For  home,  and  friends  and  love ; 
For  daily  bounties  rich  from  heaven  ; 
For  joys  laid  up  above. 

For  Him  who  all  in  mercy  sends, 

Prepare  thine  altar  high, 
While  prayer  and  praise  arising,  blends — 

Sweet  incense  to  the  sky. 

Yield  Him  thy  love,  thy  heart  and  life, 

Thy  choicest  treasures  bring  ; 
At  His  dear  feet  cease  all  complaint  — 

Thanksgiving  to  thy  King. 

48 


Autumn  Splendors. 


•7THE  autumn  splendor  fills  the  valley  wide, 

And  flings  o'er  all  the  hills  its  pageant  charm ; 
It  gilds  in  glory  fitting  any  bride, 

The  mountain  crest,  the  widely-spreading  farm. 

The  milder  green  of  summer  days  has  fled ; 

The  mantling  garb  of  gorgeous  shades  is  given  ; 
If  falling  leaves  shall  tell  us  of  the  dead, 

These  autumn  splendors  speak  to  us  of  heaven. 

The  varied  hues  reflect  the  sunset  fire, 

Which  closing  days  have  spread  across  the  sky ; 

It  daily  burns  to  conflagration  dire, 

For  every  leaf,  its  glory  spent,  shall  die. 

More  somber  shades  now  fill  the  mountain  dell, 
Where  towering  peaks  their  sunset  shadows  throw  ; 

These  longer  grown,  of  coming  night  foretell, 
As  day  to  years,  and  years  to  ages  grow. 

Melvin  Village,  1909. 


49 


The  Prodigal's  Plaint. 


'TT'AKE  back  the  world,  its  joys  but  end  in  sorrow ; 

Its  promise  tried  has  failed  my  heart  to  win  ; 
Take  back  the  days  in  which  1  feared  the  morrow, — 
The  days  which  led  the  feet  in  paths  of  sin. 

Turn  back,  O  Lord,  the  life  I  long  have  wasted, 
The  powers  misspent,  by  Thee  so  kindly  given ; 

Take  back  the  mocking  hope  so  often  blasted, 
Give  me  the  hope  of  lasting  joy  and  heaven. 

Take  back  the  heart  long  weary  of  its  seeking 
To  find  the  goal  of  pardon,  rest,  and  peace. 

Light  breaks  at  last,  Thou  dost  receive  for  keeping 
The  heart  that  seeks  and  finds  in  Thee  release. 

Take  back  at  last  when  earth  shall  fail  forever, 

To  Thine  own  home  the  child  Thy  love  has  bought ; 

Take  back  where  naught  from  Thee  shall  ever  sever, 
The  ransomed  soul  Thy  care  and  rnercy  sought. 


Priend  to  Friend/ 


face  !     Dear  friend  !     Ah,  how  we  miss 
The  old-time  smile,  the  loving  kiss  ; 
The  earnest  clasp  of  arm  and  hand  — 
That  matchless  welcome  to  a  friend. 

He  loved  as  mother  loves  her  child, 
On  high  or  low  he  gladly  smiled  ; 
He  won  the  highest  joy  —  a  friend  — 
And  fondly  loved  him  to  the  end. 

Sleep  on  the  years  which  intervene 
Between  our  grief  and  that  fair  scene, 
Which  oft  thy  tongue  and  pen  foretold, 
The  glory  world,  the  gates  of  gold. 

The  old-time  greeting  then  shall  come, 
Within  our  Father's  gladsome  home  ; 
Thy  love  renewed  shall  then  be  mine, 
My  own  shall  then  again  be  thine. 


*  Written  at  Mechanic  Falls  campmeeting  on  seeing  a  picture  of  James 
Albert  Libby. 

51 


The  Eternal  Calendar. 


•If  N  that  far  centre  of  the  wheeling  spheres, 

Where  suns  and  systems  take  their  time  and  light, 
Hangs  high  the  calendar  of  eternal  years, 

Which  keeps  the  days  but  knows  no  passing  night. 

Days  not  of  hours  but  of  the  centuries  made, 
A  thousand  years  complete  their  daily  run ; 

By  these  the  comets'  wandering  course  is  laid, 
Through  systems  vast  from  sun  to  sun. 

And  ponderous  orbs,  whose  measured  track 
Circles  through  space  beyond  our  sight  or  ken, 

Whirl  on  and  on  and  ever  safe  come  back, 
And  then  on  time  another  course  begin. 

God  of  the  universe  !  forever  One  ! 

For  whom  the  past  and  future  are  the  same  ; 
Guard  of  the  changing  centuries  past  and  gone, 

Whose  stately  march  Thy  power  and  might  proclaim, 

Thou  art  our  Sponsor  for  the  coming  days, 
In  small  or  largest  measure  be  they  cast ; 

The  dawning  century  shall  extend  the  praise 

Our  hearts  first  learned  from  Thee  in  that  now  past, 

5* 


Lights   of   Home 

And  when  earth's  journey  and  our  fleeting  years 
Are  closed  for  aye,  and  time  itself  is  o'er, 

Bring  our  frail  bark,  past  storm  and  surf  and  fears, 
To  harbor  safe,  by  that  eternal  shore. 

January  t,  1901. 


Church  Consecration. 


TIC!  ^  consecrate  this  temple  fair, 

A  shrine  for  holy  praise  ; 
A  hallowed  place  for  humble  prayer, 
Through  all  the  coming  days. 

Here  shall  our  children  oft  be  led, 
God's  solemn  truth  to  know  ; 

Here  shall  the  light  of  life  be  shed, 
Thy  saving  power  to  show. 

From  this  fair  altar  shall  ascend 

The  incense  of  our  love ; 
From  here  the  song  of  saints  shall  blend 

With  angel  songs  above. 

Fill  thou  for  us  this  sacred  place, 

Till  we  Thy  temple  see, 
Where  saved  and  gathered  by  Thy  grace, 

We  dwell  at  last  with  Thee. 

53 


Where  the  Curtain  is  Lifted. 


7THEY  say  there's  a  land  where  the  friends  gather  home, 

Who  out  of  our  lives  here  have  drifted  ; 
Where  life's  vexing  problems  shall  yield  up  their  sum, 
And  problem  and  mystery  shall  nevermore  come  — 
A  land  where  the  curtain  is  lifted. 

Then  welcome,  thou  land  of  the  unfading  flowers, 

Earth's  night  for  thy  glory  be  shifted  ; 
We  think  of  the  might  of  thy  "  world  to  come  "  "  powers," 
The  calm  of  thy  peaceful  and  joy-ladened  hours  — 

The  land  where  the  curtain  is  lifted. 

Here  dark  are  the  clouds  which  roll  overhead  — 
Though  light  through  their  folding  is  sifted  — 

And  deep  are  the  waters  that  cover  our  dead ; 

Yet,  bright  is  the  promise —  thy  prophets  have  said, 
There's  a  land  where  the  curtain  is  lifted. 

Beyond  thy  bright  rising,  beyond  the  dark  veil 

Grown  thin  by  the  glory  oft  rifted, 
We  hear  the  "all's  well"  of  the  deck-watches'  hail, 
And  see  the  last  furl  of  the  storm-beaten  sail, 

In  the  port  where  the  curtain  is  lifted. 

Boston,  1903. 

54 


Mt.  Washington  in  Mist. 


/T LOUD-CAPPED,  thou  monarch  of  the  morning  skies  ! 

Why  veil  from  me  thy  lavished  beauties  given  ? 
Revealed  or  veiled  thy  glory  never  dies  ; 

Thy  giant,  lifted  form  links  earth  and  heaven. 

Home  of  the  snowy,  changing,  cloud-land  mist  — 
Etherial,  fair,  and  weaving  changing  forms  ! 

A  granite  brow  which  rising  suns  have  kissed  ; 
Proud  Nestor  'mid  the  wintry,  sweeping  storms. 

Thy  lofty  crags  the  eagles  long  have  swept, 

Secure  from  town  or  cities'  rude  alarms ; 
High  in  their  mountain  fastness  they  have  kept 

Their  vigil  o'er  thy  constant,  changing  charms. 

Exalted  height,  so  near  heaven's  vaulted  dome  ! 

Unchanged  and  constant  through  the  ages  past ; 
Earth-symbol  of  our  Father's  changeless  throne, 

Whose  kingdom  shall  through  coming  ages  last. 

Portland,  Me.,  1903. 


55 


Unbar  Thy  Door. 


/H\Y  friend,  unbar  the  unused  door, 

Where  vines  and  weeds  are  pressing ; 
A  kingly  form  with  richest  store, 
Waits  there  to  bring  thee  blessing. 

Humble  of  mien ;  a  Friend  indeed, 

For  every  time  of  danger ; 
A  rich  supply  for  all  thy  need ; 

Arise,  admit  the  Stranger ! 

The  dews  of  night  are  on  His  hair, 
The  stars  shine  out  above  Him  ; 

But  kings  rejoice  His  light  to  share, 
And  millions  learn  to  love  Him. 

Thy  room  is  chill  with  self  and  sin, 
Hope's  sky  is  dark  above  thee ; 

Unbar  thy  door,  and  let  Him  in, 
The  One  who  best  doth  love  thee. 

What  joy  to  have  Him  as  thy  guest, 

Thy  bounty  gladly  sharing, 
Who  freely  gives  thee  heaven's  best, 

While  all  thy  burdens  bearing. 

56 


Lights   of   Home 

Thy  guest  to  cheer  and  guard  by  night, 
In  sickness  soothe  thy  sorrow ; 

To  shield  thee  till  the  morning  light, 
Then  usher  in  the  morrow. 

For  every  need  He  has  a  balm, 
Though  sin,  or  ill,  or  sadness ; 

For  every  storm  He  has  a  calm, 
For  grief  He  gives  thee  gladness. 

O  let  Him  in,  thy  friend,  and  mine  ! 
Break  down  sin's  towering  weed  and  vine  ; 
Make  room,  He  stands  without  in  night ; 
Unbar  thy  door,  let  in  the  Light ! 
King  of  the  heart,  and  King  of  men  ; 
Unbar  thy  door,  He  comes  again  ! 


Boston,  1905. 


57 


Twilight  in  the  Gatskills. 


.iCADES  from  the  hills  the  waning  light, 
*"      Which  marks  the  close  of  day  ; 
The  somber  shades,  presaging  night, 
Bring  out  the  valley  firesides  bright, 
Where  quiet  hamlets  lay. 

The  forest  groves  more  dense  appear, 

The  heights  to  frowning  turn  ; 
The  darkening  east  may  tell  of  fear, 
The  glowing  west  bids  good-night  cheer, 
Where  sunset  fires  burn. 

The  quiet  of  a  Sabbath  eve 

Broods  calm  and  still  o'er  all ; 
The  deepening  shades  their  mantles  weave 
And  on  the  brooding  fancies  leave 
Reminder  of  that  twilight  call, 

When  evening  shall  life's  valley  fill, 

And  tired  travelers  rest. 
When  there  shall  fall  the  shadows  still, 
And  fear  and  hope  the  heart  shall  thrill, 

May  sunset  fill  the  west. 

Redkill,  Catskill  Mountains,  1905. 


The  Sunset  Hour. 


E  constant  sun,  whose  glories 
Made  the  morning  hour  a  joy, 
Swings  on  his  westering  course. 
His  morning  glow  put  cheer  in  drooping  hearts, 
Dispelled  the  gloom  in  ward  and  home, 
And  kissed  the  cheek  of  pallid  sufferers. 
Its  mid -day  heat  was  blessing  for  the  toiler's  hand 
On  Eastern  slope  and  prairies  far  — 
Felt  now,  but  more  in  coming  harvest  days. 

But  now  swift  comes  the  sunset  hour ; 

The  mellow  glow  fills  all  the  sky, 

And  tints  the  earth  as  well. 

Lower  and  lower  behind  the  earth's  firm  rim 

It  sinks,  till  its  last  beam  has  fled. 

We  wait  and  look  but  see  its  form  no  more, 

But  seem  to  hear  from  sunset's  closing  door 

A  fond  "  good  night." 
Good  night.     Thy  sunset  radiance  is  a  joy ; 
But  e'en  now  thou  sure  art  rising  as  before, 
And  now  again  art  flinging 
Thy  morning  splendors  on  some  other  shore. 

And  thus  another  sun  goes  down  — 
The  world's  sun,  and  my  own  — 
But  not  in  endless  gloom. 


59 


Lighxts  of   Home 


Beyond  its  fading  sunset  glow, 
Its  twilight  merged  in  night, 

It  rises  on  some  other  shore, 
In  full-orbed  radiant  light. 

The  world  may  pass  as  fades  the  day, 
Its  shadows  thicken  o'er ; 

But  fairer  earth  shall  morn  reveal, 
A  sunlit  fadeless  shore. 

Penobscot  Bay,  1906. 


What  to  Do  With  It* 


*it¥  you  have  a  hard  task,  hurry  it ; 
If  a  dark  doubt,  bury  it. 

If  you  have  a  sound  creed,  teach  it ; 
If  a  live  faith,  preach  it. 

If  you  have  a  good  hope,  live  it ; 
If  a  kind  word,  give  it. 

If  you  have  God's  peace,  share  it ; 
If  sorrow's  burden,  bear  it. 


•Suggested  by,  and  in  part  adapted  from  a  couplet  appearing  in  Busy 
Man's  Magazine. 

60 


Star  of  the  Ni$ht. 


of  the  trackless  spaces,  whence  thy  light  ? 
How  long  thy  silent  vigil  there  on  high  ? 
Thy  blessed  ray  lights  up  the  passing  night, 
And  swells  the  splendor  of  the  midnight  sky. 

Ere  man  was  formed  or  earth's  foundation  laid, 
Thy  morning  song  rang  through  celestial  spheres, 

And  passing  ages  have  their  tribute  paid, 
To  thy  fair  glory  and  thy  nameless  years. 

Where,  tell  me,  is  the  burning  jasper  throne 
Of  Him  who  marks  for  thee  thy  unknown  way  ? 

Whose  power  thy  wandering  sister  comets  own, 
Who  dwells  in  light  beyond  our  brightest  day? 

Thy  constant  glow  through  all  the  ages  shed, 
His  higher  glory  and  His  love  declare ; 

God  of  the  living,  hope  of  all  the  dead, 

Who  guides  the  stars,  but  hears  the  humblest  prayer. 

Boston,  1903. 


The  Night  at  Bethlehem. 


/T\  NIGHT,  when  all  the  tired  world's  unrest 

Found  point  and  symbol  in  the  virgin's  need ; 
Its  kindly  mantle  drew  to  soothe  her  breast, 
Its  dew  of  pity  spread  o'er  vine  and  weed. 

Abashed  with  awe  and  mystery  profound, 

The  jest,  perchance,  for  evil  mind  and  tongue, 
Awaiting  shelter,  rests  she  on  the  ground, 

Grieved  and  intent,  but  beautiful  and  young. 

The  stars  are  marshaling  while  shepherds  sleep, 
The  din  or  traffic  for  the  day  is  past ; 

The  nightly  fold  gives  shelter  to  the  sheep, 
The  long-strayed  lamb  was  gathered  in  at  last. 

The  ample  inn  is  crowded  o'er  with  guests 
Which  Rome  has  sent  for  taxing  in  her  need ; 

As  Joseph  plies  in  vain  his  anxious  quests, 
No  friendly  keeper  to  his  call  takes  heed. 

The  sound  of  merriment  runs  high,  then  low, 
From  merry  hall  to  chamber  fades  the  light ; 

The  guests  and  keepers  to  their  couches  go, 
And  Bethlehem  lies  'neath  its  shroud  of  night. 

62 


Lights   of    Home 

But  shelterless  without  th'  unfriendly  inn, 
Bows  one  in  stress  that  only  mothers  know ; 

A  type  in  anguish  of  the  wide  world's  sin, 
Of  its  hard  burden  and  its  tide  of  woe. 

At  last  the  stable  swings  its  unbarred  door, 
To  share  with  her  and  sheep  and  kine  its  rest, 

And  on  its  portals  hang  forever  more, 

Garlands  of  praise  and  blessings  of  the  blest. 

Stable  and  kine  and  sheep  were  glorified, 

For  on  that  night  the  Prince  of  Peace  was  born  ; 

The  humblest  of  the  earth  was  sanctified, 

And  angels  brought  the  world  its  gladdest  morn. 

Night  of  all  nights  when  she  gave  Him  to  men, 
Best  of  the  days  when  He  comes  to  the  heart ; 

Better  e'en  yet  when  He  shall  come  again, 
Raising  the  lowly  to  their  better  part ; 

When  far  and  wide  His  praise  by  man  is  sung, 
When  sin  and  wrong  and  death  shall  be  no  more, 

When  peace  and  justice  to  the  earth  shall  come, 
And  His  dominion  reach  from  shore  to  shore. 

From  night  till  glorious  day  the  story  runs ; 

From  humble  manager  to  the  dazzling  throne  ; 
His  wide  dominion  shall  outlast  the  suns, 

His  righteous  reign  all  kings  and  people  own. 

63 


LiglntQ   of   Home 


Peace  then  at  last  shall  fold  her  wing  and  rest, 
War's  tumult  shall  forever  pass  away ; 

The  last  of  earth's  long  ages  shall  be  best, 
As  night  shall  merge  in  fair,  unending  day. 


December,  1910. 


Easter  Sunrise  at  Sea, 


.iCAIR  as  the  sea  in  the  shimmering  sun, 
^    Where  the  tropic  zephyrs  play, 
Was  the  morn  which  came  to  the  sleeping  One 
On  the  first  bright  Easter  day. 

Wide  swing  the  gates  of  the  glassy  sea, 
Where  the  sunrise  pours  its  tide  ; 

Calmed  shall  its  heaving  bosom  be 
Where  the  last  proud  wave  has  died. 

Bright  spring  the  flowers  in  the  haunts  of  men, 

And  afar  up  the  rocky  slope, 
Since  He  who  rose  from  the  grave  again 

Swings  open  the  door  of  hope. 

Hope  for  the  erring,  for  wanderers  lost, 

Life  for  the  friends  who  sleep ; 
Anchor  and  port  for  tempest-tossed, 

Gladness  for  those  who  weep. 

Boston,  1902. 

64 


Old  A&e  Gomes  not  There. 


'TT'HEY  say  there's  a  land  where  springtime  stays, 

And  the  bright  flowers  bloom  more  fair  ; 
Where  night  gives  place  to  the  gladsome  days, 
And  old  age  comes  not  there. 

No  trembling  limbs  or  faltering  gait, 

Nor  gray  in  the  sunlit  hair, 
Shall  mar  the  vigil  of  those  who  wait, 

For  old  age  comes  not  there. 

The  rosy  flush  and  the  lustrous  eye 

Shall  know  not  the  blight  of  care, 
Nor  fall  the  leaves,  or  flowers  die, 

For  old  age  comes  not  there. 

Welcome  the  land  of  the  fadeless  flowers, 

And  the  balm  of  a  heavenly  air  ; 
There's  passing  youth  in  this  world  of  ours, 

But  old  age  comes  not  there. 

Boston,  1902. 

Ni$ht  on  the  Deep. 


"7TIS  night,  and  ocean's  heaving  swell 

Is  cradle  while  I  sleep  ; 
What  joy  amid  the  waves  to  feel, 
I'm  with  Him  on  the  deep. 

65 


Ligtits   of   Home 

The  twilight  glow  has  deeper  grown, 

But  stars  their  vigils  keep  ; 
And  near  I  feel  my  Father's  hand, 

For  He  is  on  the  deep. 

What  depths  are  far  beneath  our  keel ! 

What  monsters  through  them  sweep  ! 
What  matters  since  my  Father's  hand 

Is  underneath  the  deep. 

In  storm  or  calm,  by  night  or  day, 
With  those  who  sing  or  weep, 

Tis  here  the  highest  joy  to  know  — 
I'm  with  Him  on  the  deep. 

It  is  No  Time  for  Idling. 


*f|T  is  na  time  for  idling  now.     The  day  declines, 

And  sunset  shadows  fall  athwart  thy  path. 
Haste  with  thy  sickle  while  the  sun  still  shines, 

And  pluck  thou  some  as  sheaves,  ere  comes  the  day  of 
wrath. 

Fields  that  are  wide  and  white  invite  thy  willing  hand  ; 

Hearts  that  are  sad  would  prize  thy  prayer  and  smile. 
Haste  with  thy  message  over  sea  and  land  — 

For  comes  the  harvest-hour  in  just  a  little  while. 

And  He  whose  crown  and  throne  the  ages  bring  apace, 
Stands  to  receive  the  sheaves  we  gather  in. 

Crowns  in  the  throne  room  where  they  see  His  face, 
Are  for  the  reapers  glad,  who  pluck  from  paths  of  sin. 

66 


Alone  with  God. 


?3  LONE  with  God,  in  the  mountain  height, 

Apart  from  the  world  and  men ; 
High  up  in  the  clearer  air  and  light, 
Where  the  towering  peaks  declare  His  might  - 
His  praise  repeat  again. 

Alone  with  God,  in  the  dark,  deep  wood, 

With  naught  but  the  song  birds'  lay, 
In  groves  where  first  His  temple  stood, 
Where  flower  and  leaf  proclaim  Him  good, 
Who  dwells  in  endless  day. 

Alone  with  God,  where  the  stillness  dwells, 

And  trees  their  chorus  bring ; 
Where  streams  and  birds  the  tribute  swells, 
Which  Nature  in  the  woodland  tells 

Of  Nature's  lavish  King. 

Alone  with  God,  fit  place  to  hear 

His  voice  speak  to  the  heart ; 
With  spirit  hushed  the  soul  draws  near, 
While  naught  distracts  or  genders  fear  — 

From  all  the  world  apart. 

Ossipee  Mountain,  1904. 


67 


The  Hrlls  of  Home. 


73  CROSS  the  lake,  now  locked  in  ice, 

O'er  islands  forest  grown, 
There  rises  toward  the  wintry  sky, 
The  snow-clad  hills  of  home. 

Fair  triple  peaks,  in  snowy  garb, 
Their  patient  ward  still  keeping 

Above  the  scenes  of  childhood  days, 
And  graves  of  kindred  sleeping. 

They  guard  the  hills,  the  lake,  the  plain, 
Through  sun  and  wintry  weather  ; 

They  watch  through  all  above  my  home, 
And  o'er  my  blessed  mother. 

They  break  from  her  the  northern  blast, 
A  morning  sun-kiss  flinging, 

When  shadows  fill  the  western  slopes 
Where  icy  brooks  are  singing. 

From  far  or  near,  in  calm  or  storm, 
Where'er  I  chance  to  roam, 

Because  they  guard  so  much  I  love, 
Dear  are  the  hills  of  home. 


68 


From  the  Hilltop  by  Ni$ht. 


?J1  LONE  to  the  hilltop  I  wandered 

One  starry  November  night, 
To  gaze  on  a  world  wrapped  in  slumber, 
Seen  dim  by  the  moon's  pale  light. 

All  was  still ;  and  no  sound  was  heard 

Save  the  roar  of  the  mountain  brook  sweeping 

Man  and  beast  had  alike  retired  to  rest, 
And  all  were  quietly  sleeping. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  lay  the  village, 
Wrapped  in  quiet  and  somber  repose, 

Partly  hid  from  view  by  the  towering  wood 
That  tall  on  the  hillside  grows. 

The  church  spire  reared  its  lofty  form 
And  gleamed  in  the  moon's  pale  light, 

A  sentinel's  watch  o'er  the  village  to  keep, 
Through  the  silent  hours  of  night. 

While  back  of  the  church  lay  the  sleeping  dead, 

Enshrouded  in  deathly  gloom  ; 
They  who  once  these  hills  and  valleys  trod, 

Sleep  there  in  the  narrow  tomb. 


Melvin  Village,  1878. 


69 


Glen  Haven. 


TH/TIHERE  towering  mountains  lift  their  heads 

Around  Glen  Haven  home, 
Where  tropic  verdure  thickly  spreads 

Its  green  from  base  to  cone  ; 
'Mid  singing  brooks  from  mossy  glen, 

'Neath  waving  palm  and  fern, 
I  dream  and  muse,  and  take  my  pen 

To  write  the  thoughts  that  burn. 

But  wandering  thought  wild  truant  plays, 

And  little  heeds  my  call ; 
It  climbs  to  tread  in  fairy  ways, 

By  dell  and  waterfall. 
It  peers  in  caverns  lone  and  damp, 

Where  moss  and  lichens  grow  ; 
Adown  the  depths  it  lights  its  lamp, 

And  plucks  a  fern  below. 

It  waits  to  listen  while  the  brook 

Its  merry  sonnet  sings, 
As  coursing  down  by  bend  and  crook, 

It  comes  from  mountain  springs 
The  golden  ferns,  companions  meet, 

It  plucks  for  love  mementoes ; 
It  takes  its  fill  of  perfume  sweet 

Which  comes  from  spice  pimentoes. 


70 


Ligtits  of   Home 


It  vies  with  humming  birds  to  drink 

The  sweet  from  nodding  flowers, 
From  orange  blossoms  white  and  pink, 

That  glow  in  sunny  bowers. 
It  plucks  a  rose  of  jessamine 

Where  bees  and  hummers  rally, 
And  culls  the  tips  of  trailing  vine 

That  grows  along  the  valley. 

But  here  it  stops  to  breathe  the  prayer, 

That  peace  and  joy  abiding, 
And  favoring  breezes  ever  fair, 

For  these  in  God  confiding, 
May  bless  their  days  and  cottage  fair, 

Where  springs  from  mountains  sally, 
Where  scent  of  roses  fills  the  air  — 

The  fair  Glen  Haven  valley. 

Glen  Haven,  Cedar  Valley,  Jamaica,  1886. 


On  the  Train. 


•iCASTER  and  faster  o'er  rail  of  steel, 
*"    Plunging  a  headlong  pace  ; 
Madly  led  by  the  driving  wheel  — 
Led  and  drove  till  a  brain  would  reel  — 
On  in  the  whirling  race. 

Over  the  bridges  with  crash  and  roar, 

On  in  the  driving  storm  ; 
Past  hill  and  dale  and  farmhouse  door, 
The  scenes  that  flash  but  come  no  more, 

Each  one  a  phantom  form. 

And  such  is  life  —  end  ever  nigh  — 

In  speed  a  Jehu  spright ; 
The  days  like  plunging  shuttles  fly, 
Or  clouds  that  race  in  a  wintry  sky, 

Or  sweep  of  a  comet's  light. 

But  some  glad  day  the  city  fair, 
Its  portal  wide  shall  swing  ; 

And  Palace  Grand  and  Sleeping-car, 

From  ages  past  and  climes  afar, 
Shall  to  that  heavenly  station  bring 

Their  mighty,  countless,  travelled  host, 
To  greet  the  waiting  King. 

Boston,  1899. 

72 


Beyond  the  Hills. 


*ft5EYOND  the  purpling  hills  where  evening  shadows  fall 
Beyond  the  gloaming  and  the  night, 
My  heart  discerns  a  brighter  light, 
My  soul  enkindles  with  the  sight, 
While  angel  voices  call. 

Across  the  murmuring  waves  whose  music  never  dies, 
Across  the  past  and  coming  years, 
The  heart  delivered  from  its  fears, 
The  eye  from  sorrow's  falling  tears, 
Shall  rest  'neath  fairer  skies. 

When  passes  by  earth's  latest  day  and  fades  her  night ; 
When  passes  by  the  last  of  care, 
Where  naught  of  sin  or  tempting  snare 
Shall  mar  or  reach  that  world  so  fair, 
My  heart  shall  hail  its  light. 

Not  there  but  here,  the  needle  points  the  far-off  pole ; 
But  there,  beyond  the  things  of  sight, 
Faith  sees  the  rising,  dawning  light, 
Eternal  day  without  a  night  — 
The  storm-tossed  sailor's  goal. 


73 


The  Sunset  Shore. 


IIXASSED  the  sunrising,  passed  the  high  noon, 
"^  Passed  all  the  day's  burdens  we  bore ; 
Drifting  away  from  the  mooring  so  soon, 
Passed  the  last  headland  and  under  the  moon, 
On  to  the  sunset  shore. 

Clouds  that  were  rolling  as  billows  in  might, 

The  home  of  the  loud  thunder's  roar, 
Are  now  calmly  restful  and  bearers  of  light, 
Reminders  of  morning  and  heralds  of  night, 
Pointing  the  sunset  shore. 

And  so  we  drift  on  from  the  morning  of  life, 

Its  pleasures  recede  more  and  more ; 
Drifting  from  childhood  so  joyous  and  blithe, 
Out  in  life's  sorrow  and  into  its  strife  — 
On  to  the  sunset  shore. 

But  faith  sees  beyond  a  far  brighter  clime, 
It  gladdens  the  heart  o'er  and  o'er  — 
A  landscape  and  glory  which  this  shall  outshine, 
A  world  where  old  friendships  again  shall  be  mine, 
Eternity's  sunrise  shore. 

Evening  on  Bay  of  Fundy,  1901. 


74 


My  Mother's  Arms. 


71  Til  HAT  a  refuge  from  alarms 
Were  her  arms  — 
My  mother's  arms ; 
Folded  soft  in  infant  rest, 
Like  a  birdling  in  its  nest, 
Ne'er  such  pillow  as  her  breast  — 
In  my  mother's  arms. 

As  the  sea  subdued  by  calms 

Were  her  arms  — 

My  mother's  arms. 

There  were  soothed  my  childish  fears, 
There  were  dried  my  troubled  tears, 
There  were  passed  the  sweetest  years, 

In  my  mother's  arms. 

Came  no  ill  that  ever  harms 

In  her  arms  — 

My  mother's  arms ; 
Soft  and  crooning  lullaby, 
Calmed  in  sleep  each  childish  sigh, 
Quickly  passed  all  troubles  by  — 

In  my  mother's  arms. 


75 


Ligtits   of   Home 


Sweeter  e'en  than  music's  charms, 

Were  her  arms  — 

My  mother's  arms. 

Years  have  brought  their  ill  and  pain, 
Falling  seed  and  ripened  grain, 
But  no  sin  or  sorrow  came, 

In  my  mother's  arms. 

Old  and  thin  with  bearing  balms, 

Are  her  arms  — 

My  mother's  arms ; 
Balms  for  healing  others'  woe, 
Toil  for  those  who  love  her  so, 
Worn  with  labor  to  and  fro, 

Are  my  mother's  arms. 

Some  glad  day  with  joyous  psalms  — 

In  her  arms  — 

My  mother's  arms, 
May  I  find  the  higher  joy, 
While  she  finds  with  heaven  her  boy, 
Nothing  shall  that  peace  annoy, 

In  my  mother's  arms. 


\IX 


Dreams. 


THE  dreams,  the  dreams  !  the  bandit  dreams  ! 

They  steal  us  away  to  bygone  scenes ; 
They  take  our  hand  with  a  magic  power, 
In  the  depth  of  night  or  morning  hour, 
And  carry  us,  willing  captives  back, 
O'er  the  freshened  scenes  of  the  backward  track, 
Oh,  the  spell  of  these  magical  dreams. 

They  take  us  out  from  the  present  life, 
And  lead  apart  from  its  anxious  strife  ; 
They  sit  us  down  by  quiet  banks, 
Where  we  swam  or  played  with  childish  pranks ; 
They  strike  once  more  the  chords  long  dumb, 
And  wake  the  forgotten  songs  of  home, 
They  tantalize  —  these  maddening  dreams. 

They  bring  the  friend  we  see  no  more, 
They  give  their  greetings  o'er  and  o'er  ; 
We  sit  again  in  well-known  places, 
And  have  the  joy  of  long-lost  faces. 
And  the  kindled  glow  of  departed  days 
Comes  back  afresh  in  the  tangled  maze 
Of  these  haunting,  transient  dreams. 

77 


Ligtits   of   Home 


But  if  these  link  for  a  happy  twain, 
Receding  years  that  ne'er  come  again, 
And  hope  shall  gather  of  future  bliss, 
And  pour  its  joy  on  a  world  like  this, 
The  past  and  future  shall  be  a  bow, 
And  shed  their  light  on  the  midway  Now  — 
Through  hope  and  the  midnight  dreams. 


At  the  Grave  of  Annie  Kempton. 


C1LEEP  on  brave  girl ! 

Though  early  set  thy  sun  in  cloud  of  woe ; 
And  thou  the  victim  of  outrageous  crime. 
A  pitying  Province  mourns  thy  fate, 
And  weaves  its  garland  of  undying  praise 
For  thy  heroic  struggle,  that  lost  thee  life, 
But  left  thee  that  more  dear  — 
Thine  own  and  woman's  honor. 

Bear  River,  N.  S.,  1897. 

73 


0  Throne  of  Love.1 


THRONE  of  love,  'mid  matchless  glory  shrined, 
Where  seraphs  chant  the  endless  hymn  of  praise  ; 
Thy  might  and  splendor  —  to  us  undivined  — 
Without  decrease,  shalt  last  through  endless  days. 

Earth's  poor  dominions  pass,  as  fades  the  flower  ; 

Their  monarchs  proud  have  reached  the  lowly  bed  ; 
Our  fairest  and  the  strongest  wait  the  hour 

Which  numbers  kings  and  peasants  with  the  dead. 

O  King  eternal !  conquering  all  my  hate, 
Who  leads  me  now  the  law  of  love  to  own, 

My  heart  shall  crown  Thee  in  the  highest  seat, 
With  joy  adore  before  Thy  conquering  throne. 

Blest  source  of  light  that  gives  me  rest  and  cheer, 
And  oft  inspires  the  hope  that  here  might  cease, 

Which  gives  to  pilgrims  spring  throughout  the  year, 
And  girds  its  worshipers  with  lasting  peace, 

Rule  Thou  without,  within,  O  throne  of  love, 
Bind  every  foe  who  shall  Thy  will  disown ; 

Reign  thou  below  as  Thou  dost  rule  above, 
O  source  of  life,  Thou  glory-circled  throne  ! 

And  when  man's  frail  dominion  here  shall  cease, 

The  last  of  kingly  scepters  pass  away, 
O  throne  of  love  1  bring  Thou  the  reign  of  peace, 

The  long-desired,  the  glad,  millennial  day. 

Boston,  1910. 

79 


Stronger  Than  Sword  or  Pen. 


sweeps  adown  the  ages, 

With  brand  of  fire, 

And  glutted  ire. 

Homes  melt  along  its  ruthless  track  ; 
Nations  go  down  amid  its  shock, 
And  empires  in  its  tremors  rock. 

Within  the  scabbard  gathers  rust ; 
The  poniard  leads  to  gore  and  lust ; 

Sad  be  the  day 

The  sword  holds  sway. 

Clash  of  cylinder,  roar  of  wheels — 

A  flame  of  thought, 

In  letters  wrought. 
Pouring  tides  of  printed  page  ; 
Fire  of  youth  and  strength  of  sage — 
A  chain  to  bind  the  passing  age. 

Back  of  press  and  type  the  pen, 
Back  of  these  the  brain  of  men — 

Improved  the  day 

When  these  hold  sway. 

80 


Lights   of    Home 


Far  on  the  Galilean  shore, 

Rises  the  One 

From  ages  born. 

No  fortress  towers  engage  His  plan ; 
No  call  He  gives  to  marshalled  men — 
Mark  well  His  power  all  ye  who  can. 

His  throne  the  trusting  contrite  heart, 
His  joy  to  share  the  world's  hard  part ; 

Glad  is  the  day 

When  He  holds  sway. 

Across  the  grave  sweeps  in  a  light ; 
Death's  bolts  give  way  ! 
See  where  He  lay  ! 
Swing  back  ye  gates  forevermore  ! 
Lift  up  for  Him  eternal  door  ! 
Bring  in  His  reign  from  shore  to  shore. 
Higher  than  sword,  or  pen,  or  brain, 
We  own  His  power  and  right  to  reign ; 
Blest  King  of  men, 
Return  again. 

Boston,  1904. 


81 


An  Evening  Reverie. 


/TOME,  wife,  and  play  me  a  hymn  to-night, 

For  a  heart  subdued  and  dumb ; 
Some  soothing  air  in  the  dim  twilight, 
Or  snatch  of  an  old  home  song. 

Play  me  or  sing  of  the  home  we  knew, 

Ere  care  or  a  sorrow  came  ; 
For  my  thought  goes  back  again  with  you, 

To  many  a  face  and  name, 

That  now  comes  back  in  memory's  dreams  — 
Such  as  night  o'er  the  twilights  shed  — 

Who  passed  too  soon  from  the  earthly  scenes, 
And  have  long  slept  with  the  dead. 

Play  to  me  soft  —  for  I'm  out  of  tune 
To-night  with  the  loud  or  gay  — 

A  song  that  breathes  of  the  flowers  of  June, 
Or  the  fresh  green  fields  of  May. 

Then  sing  to  me  last  a  song  of  cheer, 

Of  a  day  and  clime  more  fair, 
Where  the  note  of  joy  ne'er  ends  in  fear, 

And  the  perfume  on  the  air 

Shall  be  as  the  balm  of  summer  skies, 
Where  the  days  decline  no  more  ; 

And  sorrow  out  of  a  fair  world  dies, 
Like  a  wave  spent  on  the  shore. 

BottOQ,  1901. 

82 


The  Dream  of  School  Days. 


>'7TWAS  a  dream  canoe,  but  it  gaily  sped, 

Over  the  moon-lit  bay ; 
And  the  twinkling  light  of  the  stars  o'erhead 
Down  on  the  silvery  sheen  was  shed, 
Where  the  sleeping  waters  lay. 

The  mountain  form  and  the  forest  isle  — 

Seemingly  side  by  side  — 
Rose  on  the  sky  with  a  spectral  smile, 
And  their  darkling  shadows  throw  awhile, 

Afar  on  the  shimmering  tide. 

A  sound  of  paddles  and  merry  glee 

Rose  on  the  evening  air, 
And  childhood  lovers  glad  and  free, 
Sang  to  the  echo  of  rock  and  tree, 

A  merry,  romping  pair. 

No  care  beguiled  that  dreamland  hour  ; 

The  past  no  sorrow  bore  ; 
The  future  seemed  a  happy  bower, 
Aglow  with  vine  and  bud  and  flower, 

And  calm  from  shore  to  shore. 

But  dream  and  lover  are  passed  away ; 

The  one  with  the  morning  light ; 
The  other  sleeps  by  the  moon-lit  bay, 
In  sound  of  the  murmuring  ripples'  lay, 

Under  the  stars  of  night. 


Winnipesaukee.' 


Spirit  "—Haunt  of  the  Indian  brave  — 
Where  oft  his  changing  camp-fires  glowed  ; 
Or  dusky  maiden  deftly  cleft  the  wave, 

Or  bore  to  land  the  huntsman's  treasure  load. 

Demure,  o'er  dim  and  smouldering  fagot-fires  ; 

Alert  and  keen  on  trail  of  beast  or  foe ; 
A  child  of  nature,  simple  in  his  plain  desires  — 

These  were  the  haunts  the  Redmen  loved  to  know. 

Their  flinty  tools  are  on  the  pebbly  shore, 

Where  watch  and  ward  still  keeping, 
The  towering  mountains  guard  forevermore 

The  graves  where  they  are  sleeping. 

Yet  these  dark  sons  the  one  great  Spirit  knew  ; 

And  thou  fair  lake,  in  shore,  and  bay,  and  isle, 
Shalt  teach  again  their  humble  faith  so  true  — 

Thy  charm  for  us  is  still  the  Spirit's  smile. 

Alton  Bay,  1907. 


*An  Indian   name,  meaning  in  the    Indian   language,  "Smile  of  the 
great  Spirit." 

84 


Chambers  of  the  Kin£. 


*IIN  the  chambers  of  the  King  —  as  a  guest  — 
We  have  access,  after  leanness,  to  the  best ; 
All  the  hurry  and  the  tumult  dies  away, 
And  the  spirit  through  its  Advocate  can  pray ; 

In  the  chambers  of  the  King,  there  is  rest. 

In  the  busy  tides  of  life,  cares  annoy, 
And  the  gold  is  here  a  mixture  of  alloy ; 

But  within  this  calm  and  holy  resting  place, 
We  have  glimpses  of  His  glory  and  His  face  ; 
In  the  chambers  of  the  King,  there  is  joy. 

For  the  prisoners  of  hope  there's  release  ; 

Here  the  conflicts  of  the  spirit  all  may  cease  ; 

Though  without  the  storm  increases  with  the  night, 
And  we're  weary  in  our  waiting  for  the  light ; 

In  the  chambers  of  the  King,  there  is  peace. 

Like  the  pilgrims  of  the  olden  time  we  roam, 
And  with  Jacob,  have  our  visions  on  the  stone ; 
But  the  coming  of  the  Master  draweth  near, 
And  the  final  gladsome  meeting  in  the  air ; 
In  the  chambers  of  the  King,  there'll  be  home. 


Calvary. 


7TNRAW  near  my  soul  to  Calv'ry, 

Thy  Saviour  see ; 
Hear  now  His  plaintive  cry, 

Breathed  there  for  thee. 
On  Him  thy  sin  was  laid  ; 
His  blood  thy  debt  has  paid  ; 
The  cross  thy  peace  hath  made  ; 

He  died  for  thee. 

Fount  of  all  peace  and  cleansing, 
By  Thee  made  whole ; 

Saviour,  I  yield  my  heart, — 
Reign  in  my  soul. 

As  Thou  hast  suffered  long, 

Thy  love  shall  be  my  song ; 

While  with  the  blood-bought  throng 
Blest  ages  roll. 

Come  Thou,  O  Prince  and  Saviour, 

We  wait  for  Thee; 
No  more  shall  sorrow's  crown 

Thy  garland  be. 
But  crowns  of  empire  own, 
Thy  universal  throne, 
All  sin  and  pain  unknown 

Eternally. 

86 


The  World's  New  Hope. 


Tfc-tARBINGER  of  hope  —  the  morn  that  gave  Him  back, 
When  groped  the  world  in  more  than  twilight  gloom  ; 
His  cheering  light  which  fell  upon  man's  track, 
Leaving  of  joy,  of  love,  and  hope  no  lack, 
Had  faded  at  the  tomb. 

Love  lingered  long  without  the  portals  grim, 

Where  clinging  hope  had  waned  and  then  expired  ; 
The  seal  and  guard  of  Rome  were  over  Him, 
Who  calmly  slept  the  rock-hewn  tomb  within, 
In  shroud  of  death  attired. 

But  down  celestial  pathways  swift  and  strong, 

Came  other  guards  whose  power  no  seals  oppose  ; 
The  stone  rolled  back  —  in  scorning  sat  upon  ; 
The  angel  whispered  "  morning  "  to  the  sleeping  One, 
And  Christ  in  triumph  rose. 

Rose  as  a  king  with  power  and  might  divine ; 

And  conquered  death  yields  scepter,  charge  and  reign  ; 
A  glad  new  hope  o'er  all  the  earth  doth  shine ; 
Hope  for  the  dead,  yes  gladsome  hope  for  mine, 

Where  comes  no  ill  or  pain. 

Boston,  1901. 


Gome  Back  Again. 


Tl/njELCOME,  thou  sovereign  King  of  grace, 

We  long,  we  long  to  see  Thy  face  ; 
Our  hearts  are  weary  of  delay, 
When,  when  shall  come  the  promised  day? 
Come,  make  the  cloud  that  bore  Thee  hence 
Thy  chariot  back  for  our  defense ; 
We  own  Thy  sovereign  right  to  reign  — 
Come  back,  come  back  to  earth  again. 

Rulers  and  people  call  Thy  name, 
But  seek  instead  for  earthly  fame, 
And  justice  holds  uneven  hand  — 
Thy  glory  fills  not  all  the  land. 
Thy  throne,  long  vacant  here  below, 
Needs  Thee,  as  do  Thy  children,  too ; 
Return,  Thy  right  and  rule  maintain, 
Come  back,  come  back  to  earth  again. 

Thy  heralds,  now  in  every  land, 
Proclaim  Thy  kingdom  near  at  hand  ; 
Thy  bride  has  long  her  vigil  kept, 
In  weariness  Thine  absence  wept ; 
How  long,  how  long  must  she  still  wait 
Thy  coming  at  the  eastern  gate? 
She  still  her  would-be  lovers  spurn, 
And  waits  in  hope  for  Thy  return. 

88 


L/igtits   of    Home 


Delay  not  more,  we  longing  cry, 
Come  back  and  let  us  see  Thee  nigh ; 
Come,  and  restore  our  dead  who  sleep, 
Come,  dry  the  tears  of  those  who  weep ; 
Answer  our  prayer,  "  Thy  kingdom  come, 
Thy  will  again  on  earth  be  done  ;" 
Thy  bride  still  gives  her  heart's  refrain  — 
Come  back,  come  back  to  earth  again. 

The  Church  in  Revival. 


•TTHE  drum-beat  of  the  marching  host, 

Rolls  out  from  far  and  near  ; 
While  wail  of  dying  thousands  lost, 
Falls  sadly  on  the  ear. 

A  cloud  above  the  sea  is  risen, 

A  sound  of  rain  is  heard, 
While  opened  are  the  gates  of  heaven, 

And  waiting  is  the  Lord. 

He's  waiting  still  His  church  to  bless, 
To  lead  the  wandering  home ; 

And  loving  sinners  to  confess, 
Who  cease  in  sin  to  roam. 

March  on,  thou  bannered  army  bright, 

Thy  victories  increase, 
Till  thousands  turn  from  sin  to  right, 

And  own  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


89 


Shasta  Terns  and  Mosses. 


JCAIR  mosses  and  ferns  of  the  Shasta  slope, 
*"    That  sway  by  the  purling  stream, 
Away  from  the  city's  dust  and  smoke, 
A  mass  of  living  green. 

You  rise  and  fall  in  the  mist  and  spray, 
Where  the  springs  their  flow  let  down  ; 

You  kiss  the  stream  as  it  speeds  away, 
And  give  to  the  rocks  a  crown. 

You  clothe  the  dells  where  the  sun  shines  not, 

And  rare  the  foot-fall's  tread ; 
You  make  of  the  crude  a  beauty  spot, 

And  wide  your  verdures  spread. 

We  feel  the  rest  of  your  quiet  grace, 
The  breath  of  your  dripping  nod ; 

We  smile  to  you  in  this  cooling  place, 
But  yours  is  the  smile  of  God. 

Shasta  Springs,  Cal.,  1911. 


90 


Lone  Grave  in  the  Palms. 


THQIHERE  tropic  breezes  gently  blow, 

And  graceful  bamboos  wave, 
Beneath  the  palm  and  mango  shade 
I  found  a  lonely  grave. 

Not  like  the  cherished  mounds  at  home, 

By  loving  hands  attended, 
Where  flowers  and  tears  from  loving  friends 

Are  oft  together  blended  ; 

Where  quiet  steps  are  often  traced 

When  memories  sad  may  rise, 
And  grief  may  pour  its  offering  out 

O'er  where  its  idol  lies. 

But  here  one  sleeps  'neath  sunny  skies, 

Where  seasons  little  vary, 
Far  from  her  early  childhood's  home  — 

Some  one's  "  beloved  Mary." 

No  tended  grounds  or  well-worn  path, 

Or  urn  oft  filled  with  flowers, 
Tells  of  fresh  love  for  her  who  sleeps 

Beneath  these  leafy  bowers. 

The  marble  slab  that  gives  her  name 

And  tells  so  brief  a  tale, 
Is  moss-grown  in  damp  of  years 

And  passing  breeze  and  gale. 


Ligtits   of   Home 


While  tropic  ferns  of  gentle  hue 
Trail  down  the  bricken  tomb, 

As  if  their  beauty  might  light  up 
Some  taper  in  the  gloom. 


With  saddened  heart  that  one  so  young 

Should  like  the  flowers  fail, 
I  turned  my  steps  to  find  a  friend, 

And  listened  to  the  tale. 

'Twas  in  a  Western  prairie  home 

A  maiden  fair  was  reared  ; 
Where  friendship  smiled  and  love  made  glad, 

And  God  was  loved  and  feared. 

But  childhood  passed  and  school  days  o'er, 

Her  youthful  heart  was  stirred 
For  those  in  darkness,  who  of  Christ 

And  heaven  had  scarcely  heard. 

Forsaking  home  and  kindred  dear, 

And  breaking  earthly  ties, 
Devoted  Mary  crossed  the  sea 

To  work  'neath  sunnier  skies. 

Jamaica  fair,  the  isle  of  flowers, 

Became  her  field  of  care, 
And  sights  of  wretchedness  and  want 

Gave  earnestness  in  prayer. 


Lights   of   Home 

From  thatch-roofed  huts  far  up  the  hills, 

And  from  the  vales  below, 
Came  pickaninnies  to  her  school 

'Neath  where  the  bamboos  grow. 

Thus  day  by  day  with  patient  mien 
She  wrought  on  mind  and  heart, 

Rejoiced  in  hardship's  lot  to  share 
And  bear  of  toil  her  part. 

Wooed  now  by  one  who  loved  her  well, 
And  joyed  her  lot  to  share  — 

A  servant  in  his  Master's  work, 
One  strong  in  faith  and  prayer, 

She  gave  her  heart  and  hand  to  him, 

In  holy  bonds  to  live, 
And  joined  to  share  with  him  in  life, 

What  life  for  them  might  give. 

A  pretty  home  in  beauty  smiled, 

And  tropic  verdure  spread 
Its  wealth  of  green  on  hill  and  dale, 

While  from  the  sky  o'erhead, 

The  evening  stars  with  brilliant  light 
Looked  kindly  down  to  own 

The  love  and  joy  of  two  young  hearts, 
In  this  their  new-made  home. 


93 


Lights   of    Home 


Here  gladly  would  I  close  the  tale ; 

The  sweet  ne'er  mix  with  gall ; 
Nor  let  the  spectral  shadows  on 

A  pleasant  picture  fall. 

But  fairest  flowers  have  their  thorns  ; 

The  sunniest  day  its  night ; 
And  oft  the  fruit  that  fairest  seems 

Is  lost  by  early  blight. 


The  fever  came,  and  Mary  tossed 
With  throbbing  pulse  and  chill ; 

And  though  hope  lingered  by  her  cot, 
The  symptoms  boded  ill. 

Hope  fled  at  last  and  death  drew  near ; 

The  child  her  race  had  trod ; 
1  Dust  unto  dust "  the  mandate  came ; 
The  spirit  to  its  God. 

In  anguish  on  the  barbecue, 

With  heart  that  sank  like  lead, 
The  stricken  husband  strode  and  cried, 
"  God  !  is  my  Mary  dead  ?" 

The  evening  breeze  which  cooled  his  brow, 

And  seemed  to  sympathize, 
And  stars  that  looked  in  kindness  down 

From  out  the  distant  skies, 


94 


Lights   of    Home 

With  kindest  words  were  all  in  vain 

To  heal  the  riven  heart ; 
For  earth  has  scarce  a  keener  grief 

Than  when  two  such  may  part. 

Thus  far  from  home  and  kindred  friends, 

Of  age  but  "  twenty-three," 
Loved  "  Mary"  filled  a  stranger's  grave, 

Across  the  rolling  sea. 

Years  nine  and  twenty  now  have  passed 
Since  first  that  shadow  came  ; 

The  breezes  blow,  the  stars  still  shine, 
And  she  sleeps  on  the  same. 

Where  he  may  be  who  loved  her  well 
And  gave  her  heart  and  hand, 

I  may  not  know  —  perhaps  has  found  - 
Rest  in  a  distant  land. 

Where  home  may  be,  and  early  kin, 
And  where  the  loving  mother, 

I  may  not  know  while  in  this  life  — 
I  may  when  in  the  other. 

Alive  or  dead,  they're  far  away, 

And  Mary  sleeps  alone ; 
May  angels  guard  her  resting  place 

Beneath  this  mossy  stone. 


95 


But  now  for  love  I  bear  to  Him 
Whom  Mary  loved  so  well, 

And  for  the  cause  she  loved  to  serve, 
This  story  now  I  tell ; 

And  plant  a  flower  beside  her  grave, 

And  may  it  live  to  bloom 
Till  angel  voices  from  the  sky 

Shall  cleave  this  lonely  tomb. 

For  those  who  loved  this  Mary  well 
And  wish  their  presence  here, 

I  plant  in  tenderness  the  rose, 
And  drop  a  falling  tear. 

For  I,  too,  have  across  the  sea, 
A  grave  'neath  oaken  bowers, 

Where  sleeps  the  choice  of  early  years, 
A  fairest  of  earth's  flowers. 

And  if,  perchance,  I  wander  far 
'Neath  bright  or  darkened  skies, 

May  kind  hands  there  a  token  plant, 
O'er  where  my  sleeper  lies. 

Where  tropic  breezes  gently  blow, 
And  graceful  bamboos  wave  ; 

Beneath  the  palm  and  mango  shade, 
Is  Mary's  lonely  grave. 

Providence,  Jamaica,  Feb.,  1886. 

96 


Evening  at  Avalon. 


'ADING  sunset  in  the  west, 

Twilight  on  the  sea ; 
Evening  shadows  tell  of  rest, 
And  the  night  to  be. 

Fisher  boats  swing  with  the  tide 

On  the  homeward  way  ; 
Shadows  on  the  mountain  side 

Warn  of  parting  day. 

Harbor  lights  and  lights  of  land, 
Shed  a  radiance  wide — 

Shine  to  light  the  mall  and  strand- 
Shimmer  on  the  tide. 

Music  lends  its  magic  spell, 

Evening  stars  look  on ; 
Who  but  loves  thee  long  and  well, 

Charming  Avalon  ? 


Santo  Catalina,  Cal.,  July,  1911. 


97 


When  Mother  Tucked  Me  In. 


'TT'HE  old  days  somehow  have  been  coming  back, 

Nor  are  the  new  quite  what  the  old  have  been  ; 
I've  dreamed  of  childhood  on  this  backward  tack, 
The  nights  at  home  when  mother  tucked  me  in. 

The  day  of  childish  weariness  was  o'er, 

Stored  were  its  toys  and  ceased  its  tops  to  spin ; 

My  dreamland  bark  had  well-nigh  left  the  shore, 
When  mother  came  and  fondly  tucked  me  in. 

'Twas  no  vain  kiss,  or  fondness  feigned  in  greed  ; 

In  her  pure  love  there  was  no  dross  or  tin ; 
My  home  had  ministries  for  childish  need — 

The  best  of  all  when  mother  tucked  me  in. 

The  world  has  had  its  grim  and  harsher  tone, 
Its  galling  care,  its  weight  of  ill  and  sin ; 

But  memory  turns  to  restful  nights  at  home, 
When  mother  came  and  kindly  tucked  me  in. 

She's  older  grown,  and  bending  is  her  frame, 

Her  toil-worn  hands  have  with  the  years  grown  thin  ; 

But  she  receives  me  home  with  old-time  love  the  same, 
And  comes  again  at  night  and  tucks  me  in. 

Sad  childish  lives,  bereft  of  mother  care, 

Street  waifs  in  homelessness  and  want  and  sin, 

What  grief  and  loss,  what  barrenness  of  fare — 
For  them  no  mother  comes  and  tucks  them  in. 

Boston,  1912. 


A  Grandfather's  Confession. 


C+IHE'D  been  away  and  left  me  quite  alone, 

For  good  grandmas  are  handy  oftentime  ; 
But  here's  her  greeting  when  she  came  back  home, 
"  I  tell  you  what,  that  baby's  something  fine." 

Twas  bald  and  thin  and  weak  and  very  red, 
Yet  in  her  eyes  'twas  just  a  beauty  mine  ; 
Only  a  proud  young  grandma  could  have  said, 
"  I  tell  you  what,  that  baby's  something  fine." 

I  mildly  tried  to  check  her  eager  praise, 

Tone  down  her  view  to  prose  or  safer  rhyme  ;, 
But  all  in  vain  !  I  heard  through  other  days, 
"  I  tell  you  what,  that  baby's  something  fine." 

She  goes  and  comes  and  goes  quite  often  now, 

Though  of  her  errands  I  can  scarce  repine  ; 
It  pays  to  hear  her  tell  each  time  somehow, 
"  I  tell  you  what,  that  baby's  something  fine." 


99 


Lightta     of     Home 

Tis  well  God  gives  to  mothers,  mother  love, 

Nor  wanes  when  children's  children  round  it  twine 

Its  yearning  tenderness,  like  that  above, 

Has  ready  note  "That  baby's  something  fine." 

The  grandma  wins  !     'Tis  but  a  woman's  way  ; 

Tis  here  a  little  and  the  "  line  on  line  ;" 
I'm  slowly  yielding  as  I  hear  her  say, 
"  I  tell  you  what !  that  baby's  something  fine." 

'Tis  later  now  and  I've  been  out  to  see 

The  babe  they  say  that  looks  as  once  did  mine  ; 

I  guess  the  grandma's  view  has  taken  me, 
I  tell  you  what !  that  baby's  something  fine. 

Boston,  1913. 


IOO 


The  Bridegroom's  at  the  Gate. 


CJ1OON  shall  the  passing  night 
Fade  off  the  western  sky ; 
There  rises  high  the  eastern  light, 
That  tells  the  day  is  nigh. 

Long  have  the  shadows  been 
On  heart  and  home  and  plain ; 

Long  now  has  been  earth's  reign  of  sin, 
And  long  her  night  of  pain. 

But  shadows  soon  shall  break, 
Where  wait  the  martyr  dead 

In  resurrection  life  to  wake, 
And  rise  to  meet  their  Head. 

The  morning  comes  at  length  ; 

Awake,  O  earth,  and  sing  ! 
Church  of  the  ages,  gird  thy  strength, 

With  day  shall  come  thy  King. 

Hast  thou  thy  message  given 
On  street  and  lone  byway? 

Haste,  then,  thy  task,  for  on  the  heaven 
Are  signs  that  herald  day. 

My  soul  thy  case  prepare, 
Trim  well  thy  lamp  and  wait ; 

The  night  gives  place  to  morning  fair, 
The  Bridegroom's  at  the  gate, 

Boston,  1913, 

101 


Burdens. 


*fl5URDENS  of  poverty,  burdens  in  wealth, 
Burdens  in  sickness,  burdens  in  health ; 
Burdens  for  all  men  wherever  they  roam, 
Burdens  in  travel,  burdens  at  home. 

Burdens  for  muscles,  burdens  for  brain, 
Burdens  of  sickness,  burdens  of  pain ; 
Burdens  for  toilers  within  cottage  walls, 
Burdens  for  princes  in  bright  palace  halls. 

Burdens  of  empire  for  rulers  of  state, 
Burdens  for  judges  who  sit  in  the  gate ; 
Burdens  for  people  who  bend  to  their  toil, 
Loads  that  grow  heavy  beneath  the  hard  moil. 

Burdens  in  factory  and  burdens  on  farm, 
Burdens  of  market  in  panic's  alarm — 
Office  and  counting  room  gilded  and  fair, 
Burdens  of  finance,  burdens  of  care. 

Burdens  of  childhood,  in  fancy  and  truth, 
Mixing  and  marring  the  pleasures  of  youth  ; 
Burdens  that  vent  of  their  sharpness  in  tears, 
Throwing  their  shadow  along  through  the  years. 


102 


Lights     of     Home 


Burdens  for  mothers  who  toil,  yet  with  joy, 
Shielding  the  daughter,  guiding  the  boy ; 
Burdens  of  bread,  of  schooling,  of  life, 
Burdens  and  care  for  mother  and  wife. 

Burdens  for  fathers  in  toiling  and  plan, 
Burdens  competing  his  shrewd  fellow  man, 
Facing  the  world  with  its  grinding  and  greed, 
Toiling  for  others,  meeting  their  need. 

Burdens  for  doubting  and  some  for  belief, 
Burdens  that  have  in  their  bearing  relief ; 
Burdens  that  cast  their  dark  shade  on  the  years, 
Some  of  them  heavy  because  of  our  fears. 

Burdens  of  sorrow  when  grief  holdeth  sway, 
Casting  their  spell  on  the  round  of  the  day, 
Heavy  as  millstones  their  presence  by  night, 
Burdens  of  darkness  that  carry  no  light. 

Burdens  of  widowhood,  care  upon  care, 
Shadows  that  follow  and  cling  everywhere  ; 
Fragrant  through  bearing — though  heavier  yet, 
Holding  a  sad  joy  we  never  forget. 

Burdens  we  whisper,  but  some  of  them  keep, 
Burdens  so  heavy,  yet  some  of  them  sweet, 
Linking  the  bright  past  with  fetters  of  gold, 
To  all  the  high  hopes  that  the  future  may  hold. 


Lights     of     Home 

Burdens  of  youth,  of  manhood,  of  age, 
Surely  are  written  on  life's  every  page ; 
Burdens  for  high  and  burdens  for  low, 
Burdens  to  carry  wherever  we  go. 

Burdens  where  fiercely  the  northern  blasts  beat, 
Burdens  beneath  the  high  tropic  sun's  heat ; 
Burdens  of  East  and  burdens  of  West, 
Each  of  them  heavy,  none  of  them  best. 

Master,  Thou  bearer  of  sorrows  and  men, 
We  bring  at  thy  bidding  our  burdens  again  ; 
Though  heavy  they  grow  with  passing  of  years, 
And  often  their  bearing  grows  lighter  with  tears, 

We  ask  not  relief  from  their  weight  and  stress, 
Nor  that  they  in  number  be  made  for  us  less ; 
We  ask  but  the  vision  of  men  who  have  trod 
Their  pathway  in  courage  with  duty  and  God  ; 

We  crave  for  life's  tasks  but  grace  for  our  day, 
Thy  comfort  and  Presence  with  us  on  the  way ; 
This  granted,  our  burdens  grow  lighter  again, 
Thou  Bearer  of  sorrows,  of  burdens,  of  men. 

Boston,  1913. 


104 


Lake  Marion. 


On  Mt.  Abbott,  at  Glacier  in  the   Canadian  Selkirks. 

TllTflALLED  by  the  mountains  grim  and  high 

And  fed  by  the  glacier  stream, 
Reflecting  shore  and  mount  and  sky  — 
Gem  for  an  artist's  dream. 

Thy  placid  surface  bears  in  charm 

The  circling  mountains  far  ; 
Thine  is  the  deeper  restful  calm 

Where  sleeps  the  midnight  star. 

Gem  in  the  Selkirks'  snow-girt  crown, 

Tear  on  the  mountain's  face, 
You  bear  the  deep  wood  forest's  frown, 

Yet  smile  with  a  maiden's  grace. 

Your  lovers  come  from  far  and  wide, 
Your  charms  their  hearts  shall  chain  ; 

Yours  is  the  joy  of  waiting  bride, 
Whose  bridegroom  comes  again. 

Pebble  and  beach  and  placid  face, 
Graceful  mirror  of  mountains  far ; 

Sharing  with  us  a  heavenly  grace, 
Cradling  sun  and  star. 


Give  Us  Great  Thoughts. 


IVE  us  high  thoughts,  commensurate  to  the  hour, 

Born  of  large  vision,  thrilled  from  hidden  power  ; 
Such  view  as  points  the  heart  its  higher  goal, 
And  stirs  to  newer  life  the  sluggish  soul. 

Be  ours  to  know  and  feel  the  good  in  men, 
Yet  shun  the  wrong  with  ever  high  disdain  ; 
To  heed  the  call  of  duty  and  of  right, 
Nor  measure  justice  with  the  reed  of  might. 

Save  us  from  those  who  narrow  to  their  span, 
The  broader  vision  of  the  higher  man  ; 
Who  mend  the  ill  of  their  fond  narrowness, 
By  adding  long  and  louder  emphasis. 

Take  from  us  self,  and  seeking,  lest  we  fall, 
Give  us  to  hear,  in  whispers  e'en,  Thy  call, 
The  soul  to  feel  that  crowning  vision  wide, 
And  trust  of  faith  as  full  as  ocean's  tide. 

We  crave  a  heart  illumed,  enlarged  to  feel 
The  deeper  need  of  our  poor  human  weal ; 
The  deepening  joy  of  ever  rising  faith, 
Triumph  at  last  that  conquers  life  from  death. 


1 06 


Limits  of  Time  and  Vision. 


TIME  !     So  restless  and  so  hurrying, 

Pause  yet  a  while  nor  haste  so  on  the  way ; 
Your  swiftly  coming  tasks  my  plans  are  burying ; 
The  flying  hours  make  short  my  toiling  day. 

E'er  morning  hours  are  well  in  their  unfolding, 
'Tis  noon,  then  night,  nor  is  my  labor  done ; 

I  press  my  task  the  waning  hours  beholding, 
Then  see,  too  soon,  the  swiftly  setting  sun. 

The  lore  of  time  allures  ;  my  fancy  treading 
Finds  high  companionship  from  out  the  past, 

Where  through  the  fanes  of  wider  knowledge  threading, 
I  touch  the  fringes  of  a  world  so  vast. 

1  need  long  years  in  place  of  fleeting  hours, 

To  range  those  fields  and  reap  their  ripened  grain ; 

To  know  the  scent  and  grace  of  wayside  flowers, 
That  shall  not  bloom  in  all  the  world  again. 


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Lights     of     Home 

But  here  around  is  e'en  a  vaster  present, 

Ten  thousand  avenues  of  brightly  lighted  way, 

Where  changing  vistas  of  an  aspect  pleasant, 
Make  bright  and  glad  the  swiftly  passing  day. 

And  with  the  years  comes  life's  far  deeper  meaning, 
The  inner  joy  of  thought,  of  view,  of  friend  ; 

Of  springing  faith  from  out  the  cold  world's  seeming, 
Earth's  brighter  hope  that  with  her  sorrows  blend. 

Beyond  it  all  are  fields  our  powers  transcending, 
The  larger  range  of  thought,  of  art,  of  song ; 

Beyond  the  limit  of  our  power's  ending, 

Ungarnered  fruit  and  vistas  bright  and  long. 

As  chafes  a  bird  behind  the  bars  confining, 
That  longs  to  try  its  wing  on  spaces  wide, 

So  yields  the  heart  its  meed  of  sore  repining, 
That  in  like  narrow  confines  it  must  bide. 

Nor  time  nor  space  are  ours  for  full,  wide  roving, 
Nor  power  nor  wing  for  such  a  grasp  or  flight ; 

Ours  the  small  quest,  life's  common  problems  solving, 
In  light  that  ever  reaches  for  the  light. 


But  on  another  shore  1  trust  for  time  unfailing 
To  clear  the  doubts  that  here  beset  the  way  ; 

Of  larger  grasp  and  perfect  strength  availing, 
And  clearer  vision  in  a  brighter  day. 

1 08 


Lights    of     Home 


In  that  clear  air  where  time  and  strength  are  given, 
And  life  and  joys  in  fuller  measure  come, 

That  all  abounding  fullness  shall  be  heaven, 

The  Father's  house  whose  children  gather  home. 

In  all  that  clime  shall  be  no  incompletion, 
Heaven  shall  its  measure  fill  to  overflow ; 

Our  hopes  shall  fruit  in  full  and  glad  fruition, 
As  light  to  light  and  age  to  age  shall  grow. 


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